


Suddenly I See

by JWMelmoth



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Additional Characters to be added, Fix-It, Klaine Break-Up, M/M, Non-Graphic Past (Self)Harm, Non-Graphic Past Substance Abuse, Non-Graphic Past Unsafe Behaviour, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Not Rachel Friendly, Rating May Change, S5 AU, initial Klaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JWMelmoth/pseuds/JWMelmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A commissioned “fix-it” for s5 starting around 5 x 15 (but without Kurt getting bashed).  For the first time in his life, Kurt has everything he has always dreamed of. But when his fiance betrays him in a despicable (but completely predictable) manner, the Teenage Dream is over. Dani and Santana lay down the gauntlet for Elliott: Pick up the speed with Kurt before he gets snatched up again. Meanwhile, Kurt's many talents are finally recognised at NYADA- both by the teachers and the other students...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally commissioned (and paid for) by a tumblr user for the ChrisColferCharityDrive 2015. Sadly the tumblr user dropped offline before I could finish the fic, so I decided to start posting it publicly for others to enjoy.
> 
> Beta and moral support by Deliriumbubbles.

**KURT**

For the first time in his life, Kurt had everything he had always dreamed of. A place at a prestigious dramatic arts school. A job at Vogue.com. A loft in New York City, interior decorations a la Kurt Hummel. New friends who hadn’t seen him with a slushie facial or a Prom Queen crown. His own band- and one of the highest items on his success-list: a steady boyfriend (fiancé!), who had recently moved in with him.

Unfortunately, living the dream wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 

While his classes were going well, and so was his job and his band, his living situation was becoming more and more unbearable. His engagement to Blaine hadn’t magically made all of their problems go away. Not that Kurt had really expected it would, but maybe a small part of him had still believed in magic back then. Six months later? Not so much.

When Blaine came to New York to audition, he had been scared and intimidated by life in the big city. Kurt talked him out of that, but it seemed he had done a little too well. Boosted by his acceptance at NYADA and the constant accolades of his peers in Ohio, Blaine had arrived in New York with a single goal- not just taking a bite out of the Big Apple, but to swallow it whole.

Blaine had moved into the loft and immediately started making changes. Different towels, different sheets (he didn’t come out and say it, but heavily implied that he was uncomfortable with sleeping on sheets that Kurt ‘may or may not have shared’ with someone else while they were broken up); a SodaStream machine that was loud and left water stains on the kitchen surfaces, a small piano that he played constantly. And not a day went by without him moving things (that Kurt would then move back) or Blaine making some passive-aggressive remark about Kurt’s décor. Kurt was pretty sure that things would start breaking accidentally-on-purpose soon. And while Blaine insisted on cooking Kurt breakfast every day, he never participated in cleaning up the mess he had made - which cost Kurt a lot more time than making his own breakfast. When he asked (very, very carefully) if Blaine could maybe save his culinary skills for Sundays when Kurt had the time to savour breakfast in bed, Blaine had sulked for days before ceasing to cook altogether. Kurt knew that could have gone better, but he was secretly glad of it. At least now, if he didn't eat pancakes and fried eggs every morning, he could stop skipping lunch at work.

And then there was the roommate situation. Rachel had moved back into the loft and had fallen back into her special ways (maybe even a little worse, now that she had _Funny Girl_ ). On top of that, without prior discussion with Kurt, Blaine had invited his best friend Sam (Kurt had always imagined _he_ was Blaine’s best friend, but times had changed) to stay at the loft ‘until he found his own place’. He didn't pay rent, ate a lot of food, and stayed up late watching movies or playing games when Kurt was trying to study or sleep. He also had a knack for interrupting the sparse moments of intimacy Kurt and Blaine still shared. Kurt found this especially problematic, because there were already so few of those moments to begin with.

Even though he was now living together with Blaine, they had less sex than while they were in their long-distance relationship- especially if Skype calls counted. Somehow, there was always something else to do, or one of them was tired or had to get up early. It didn’t help that the times when they _did_ manage to get a little frisky often ended up in disappointment.

According to the magazines Kurt had read on the topic, what they needed was privacy, a relaxed atmosphere and good communication. The loft offered none of that, and communication had never been their strong point. Whenever Kurt tried to bring it up, Blaine got overly defensive and they only ended up blaming each other. Tired of voluntarily adding another thing to the list of things they fought over, Kurt had stopped trying and just hoped things would get better on their own and Sam would learn to knock at some point. Still, it was less than ideal. A guy had needs, after all; and even more than the physical, Kurt needed to feel emotionally connected to someone.

Luckily, he had found someone in New York to help with the platonic side of that. Elliott had come into his life sparkling and glamorously, but behind his stage persona Starchild, he was down to earth, calm and mature, and exactly what Kurt needed when he had to escape his home life. His door was always open, and so were his ears. By now, Elliott knew more about Blaine than any of Kurt’s friends. Kurt easily felt as close to him as he used to be to Mercedes, with an added bonus of not having to worry about making his new friend uncomfortable with the guy stuff.

And so, once again, he found himself pouring his heart out to Elliott in the middle of a music store, after another night of fights, blaming, and a definite lack of angry (or make-up) sex.

“...I know what I’m about to say sounds like a bad Bravo show, but I’m starting to think like that couch was an omen. Of our relationship. Seemingly fine from the outside, but headed for certain disaster.”

“Huh,” Elliott let out non-committantly.

“Does that sound crazy?”

“Absolutely,” Elliott confirmed.

Kurt sighed. He had gone over it so many times the night before that he just wasn’t sure what was sane anymore. All the while, he kept hearing April Rhodes’ voice in his ear, toasting to his and Blaine’s ‘inevitable divorce’ after she found out they were getting married.

“It’s not just the couch…” Kurt admitted, looking away from Elliott and fixing his eyes on the sheet music in Elliott’s hands. “I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. I wake up next to Blaine, I go to school with Blaine, I come home to Blaine…and we have nothing to talk about because he’s literally there with me _all_ the time! I mean, he takes 6 out of 8 of my advanced classes. How is that even possible? He’s a freshman! I am only now catching up on the classes I missed by starting NYADA a semester late…And the other day he showed up at the diner again to sing for my customers. They actually tipped _him_ instead of me.” He shook his head. “It’s like high school all over again. He’s doing everything I did- everything I’m still doing!- but _better_.”

“Hey, come on now,” Elliott chastised, frowning a little. Kurt knew what he meant and shrugged.

“You know what I mean. Not _really_ better, but… when I do it, I barely pass, and when he does it, everyone loves it. I’m expecting him to show up at Vogue as a _model_ or something any time now, because that’s the only part of my life he hasn’t invaded yet.” He cocked his head. “Or he’ll probably try to take over my band,” he added as an afterthought.

Elliott snorted, and Kurt felt a little vindicated, a spiteful feeling he tried to repress as soon as possible. Blaine was his fiancé, after all.

"I don't know. I feel like I’m starting to lose my identity.” Something inside told him he shouldn’t be so dramatic, but that voice sounded a lot like Blaine- and dammit, he was a dramatic arts student. Drama was his life!

Elliott sighed and turned to face him. “Okay, well- stop me if you don’t want my opinion.”

Kurt made a point of not stopping him, and Elliott chuckled. “When I first heard you were engaged, I thought, _uh-uh, big mistake, too young_ \- but then I got to know you and realized you’re really mature for your age-”

“You sound like a geezer,” Kurt mumbled. “You’re only three years older than I am.”

“-and I’m super-jealous,” Elliott continued. “Still, though- everyone needs time alone. It’s healthy. So just set some boundaries. But… don’t forget to rehearse with your band.”

Kurt smiled a little. “Well, don’t worry. I don’t think I need _alone_ -alone time. Just some time away from Blaine every now and then. Band rehearsal totally counts.”

“Good,” Elliott agreed happily. “So what do you think about A Great New World?” He waved his sheet music at Kurt.

Kurt took it, glad for the immediate distraction. He needed to think about this, about what kind of boundaries he wanted to set- and how he was going to break it to Blaine- but for now he needed some time to let it sink in.

 

*

 

 **ELLIOTT**  
  
Elliott walked Kurt to the NYADA campus, and after they had hugged and said goodbye, he watched Kurt go, mingling among his peers easily. Elliott smiled. It wasn’t hard to see why NYADA had accepted him. Kurt looked like he belonged there.

Since he met Kurt, Elliott had often thought about his own audition at NYADA. Roughly four and a half years ago, a younger, slightly chubbier version of himself had stepped up to the stage, sweaty palm wrapped around a cordless microphone, and peaks of dyed black hair hanging into his eyes. Starchild had not yet been born - it wasn’t until NYU that Elliott accepted his own theatricality, and that had probably shown in his audition. It was hard trying to show everything you had, if you felt like you had to hide a large part of yourself.

And the more he heard from Kurt about the cutthroat world of showcases, student sing-offs and sycophants, he knew his rejection from NYADA had been a blessing in disguise. With the arts as only a section of NYU’s spectrum, he did not have to 'compete' with the entire student body for parts, nor play the popularity game. He was very happy at his university now, doubling in Music Theatre and Costume Studies. It united both of his passions; performing and sewing. NYU helped him meet a range of interesting people with diverse interests. He found a place of his own in New York, came out (as gay and as a _nachwuchs_ -glamrocker), had a few affairs, got a few new tats. Now, at twenty-three, he finally felt as self-assured in his life and his art as Kurt seemingly already did at 19.

Elliott smiled. Well, that was the reason Kurt was the leader of their band, and not him.

Kurt turned around at the entrance and waved. Elliott put his hand up as well and shouted: “Dont forget! Friday! Business Make-over!”

“You got it!” Kurt yelled back, and blew him a kiss.

Elliott could see the people around Kurt looking from Kurt at him, and Elliott did his best to hide how smug that made him feel. _That’s right_ , he thought. _I’m friends with the coolest guy at NYADA. Suck it up._ He wondered how many of them assumed he was Kurt’s fiancé.

The thought of Blaine sobered him a bit, and on his way home, Elliott pondered the things Kurt had told him at the music store. He hadn’t lied when he had told Kurt he was jealous of his relationship; to find someone at such a young age, to go through all of these phases in life together- school, college… of course that was something to envy. But only if it was voluntary. And Blaine somehow maneuvering himself into all of Kurt’s classes, or insisting on making Kurt breakfast that he didn’t really want and then expecting him to be grateful, didn’t exactly sound like Kurt had a choice in the matter. Or like it was making him happy.

Elliott wasn’t even sure why Blaine suddenly insisted on spending so much time with Kurt when a few months ago, he wouldn’t even come to see Pamela Lansbury’s first gig (or any of their following gigs). He must have known how much that meant to Kurt. Still, Elliott hoped they could work things out. He might not like the guy, personally- for more reasons than Kurt knew- but it was clear that Kurt loved him and Elliott wanted Kurt to be happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**KURT**

Kurt was still thinking about Elliott’s advice two days later. He knew Elliott was right, but it still felt strange to want to spend time  _ without _ Blaine. The last time they broke up, it was because they had been spending too much time apart. 

What if this “alone time” Kurt needed would be too much for Blaine? Would he cheat on him again? The hardest part (and this was something that he hadn’t even told Elliott yet) was that Kurt wasn’t even 100% sure Blaine wasn’t doing that already, what with the lack of interest he showed in being physical with Kurt. Maybe crowding him everywhere was some sort of compensation tactic?

Kurt shook his head and sighed. What was he thinking? Blaine was doing his best to be around him because he loved him. And really, when would he even have time to cheat on him, when he was with Kurt every hour of the day?

Thus occupied in his mind, Kurt walked into the loft on autopilot, dragging his feet. As he looked up, he saw outlines of ugly yellow tape right in front of him, and a white desk and chair combo squashed between his closed storage (slash inspiration board) and Rachel’s part of the loft. Rachel’s shelves and the lightbulb star were unceremoniously shoved aside with a cable running diagonally over the floor to the socket. Kurt’s flea market faux art nouveau lamp was perched on top of the desk, and right next to it stood Blaine’s aluminium architect lamp, positioned so that Kurt’s storage door would no longer open. What the  _ actual  _ fuck? 

In front of it all: Blaine, looking pleased with himself. When he noticed Kurt, he smiled and said: “Hey, did you hear Sam got a jo-”

“What are you doing?” Kurt cut him off sharply. He did not care about Sam right now.

“This,” Blaine said smugly, circling his fingers in the air around the taped off disaster, “is something I think would make a really great office-area.” He caught his own reflection in the aluminium lamp, licked his finger, and started to rub at a smudge on it with his spit.

“Back away from the lamp, okay!” Kurt commanded. “What were you thinking? An office-area? Here? When someone enters their sanctuary, they don’t want their eyes immediately drawn to a hideous work space.”

Blaine shook his head. “I’m not done yet,” he said patronisingly, rolling his eyes at Kurt. “Obviously the tape is gonna come off-”

“It better! If that stuff leaves traces on the exposed brick wall, I swear to god-” Kurt started threatening.

“And there’s gonna be some pictures, and I was thinking a rug and some shelves-”

“No.  _ No _ ,” Kurt hissed. “This isn’t McKinley, Blaine. You can’t just barge in here and do whatever you want, whenever you want, okay?” He spread his arms in a gesture of utter disbelief. A  _ rug _ ? He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself before he continued.  “These things… you just can upthrow the  _ chi _ of the place. Do you know how hard I worked to get everything right in here? To get the positive energy flowing-” Kurt broke off as it became clear from Blaine’s expression that he wasn’t listening.

He walked over to his own desk, feeling hollow and unsettled. Suddenly, for the very first time, he understood exactly why Finn had minded so much when he had redecorated their shared basement bedroom without asking for his input. 

“You could have at least consulted me before making design decisions in my home,” he said, a little humbled by his epiphany.

“I thought that this was supposed to be  _ our _ home, Kurt,” Blaine bit back.

Anger bubbled back up inside of Kurt at Blaine’s tone. “Yes. Yes, it’s  _ our _ home. But you forget one thing, Blaine,” he replied angrily, spinning around to face him again. He pointed his finger at his fiancé’s face. 

“ _ You _ moved in with  _ me _ . When you were back in Lima running around in superhero sidekick costumes and making felt puppets,  _ I _ found this place. On my own. I haggled over the rent with the bitchy landlady, I scrubbed, sanded and painted. I scoured the flea markets to get it filled with furniture. I turned a hanger into a home, all the while balancing my internship with my college education. When our rent suddenly got raised after the first christmas? I got a second job. When we got robbed? I replaced our inventory and the locks. I dealt with roommates moving in, moving out - and none of them, not even Santana, ever had the nerve to mess with my _ feng shui _ .”

Blaine, who had grown increasingly annoyed during Kurt's tirade, now looked like he was ready to spit fire. “How dare you patronize me,” he said, his tone threatening and deep with disgust. “ _ I’m sorry _ I didn’t graduate with you, Kurt.  _ I’m sorry _ Dalton kept me back a year because I was bullied so badly at my old school I couldn’t attend all my classes-” he spit out, his posture and facial expression making sure Kurt knew he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “But if you think that having a year of  _ experience _ here in New York,” he used air quotations sarcastically, “gives you some kind of maturity over me, then you’re wrong. And you are  _ not _ the indoor decorator genius you think you are. Believe it or not, not every single design decision you make is brilliant, or even functional. This whole area was empty. You had a prime piece of the floor plan going to waste! I know you keep saying you feel crowded, but the solution is not leave your apartment bare.”

“Actually, you’ll find that keeping 20-35% of your storage space unused for new ideas and the flow of fresh-” Kurt started to cite his  _ Feng Shui For Millennials _ handbook, but Blaine cut him off.

“It’s ridiculous! And I’ll tell you something else. This whole ‘privacy curtains between the bedrooms’ thing is stupid, come on! We can hear every noise our roommates make at night. God knows what they hear from us!”

The more intense Blaine got in his anger, the calmer Kurt became. All of this was like the rerun of a bad show. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground. “Your snoring, I imagine. And not much else.” He raised an eyebrow and gave Blaine a pointed look.

Blaine’s mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you are bringing up our sex-life again!” he let out.

“Technically, not  _ again _ , since you refuse to talk about it,” Kurt replied. He shook his head. “You know what? Elliott was right, we’re losing our boundaries.”

Blaine blinked, and started to stutter. “I’m sorry, Elliott? Wh- what does  _ Elliott _ has to do with any of this?”

“He just gave me some advice,” Kurt started to explain.

“About what?  _ Feng shui _ ? Our sex-life?”

“What? No! We were just talking about all of this, us living together-”

“I  _ bet _ you were talking,” Blaine scoffed. He took a few steps closer to Kurt, his hands balled into tight fists.

Kurt didn’t like this insinuation at all, nor the way Blaine was walking up to him. “He’s my friend,” he protested.

Blaine rolled his eyes. “I  _ bet _ he’s your friend,” he spit out.

Kurt lowered his arms and crossed the remaining distance between them with fast, angry strides. “Calm down, psycho,” he said angrily, coming to a halt in front of Blaine. “And stop being so-” He raised his hands and waved them at Blaine’s face. “Pouty and weird. It’s annoying. Nothing is going on between Elliott and me, and if you’d let me finish for once I could explain what we-”

“Nothing?  _ Nothing _ ’s going on? Then what the hell was that picture all about? The one on facebook, with him kissing you?” Blaine demanded.

Kurt shook his head. “That was months ago, and I told you back then it was harmless.”

“Yeah, right. Like those text messages from that frog face back in high school.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He used his height advantage to glare down at Blaine. “You’re a fine one to talk, Blaine Anderson. ‘ _ Oh, Sebastian’s harmless, his texts are family-friendly, blah blah _ -’" Kurt rolled his eyes in disgust. "He wanted into your pants and you knew it. You  _ liked _ him flirting with you, so you never stopped it. Family-friendly, my ass. And as far as I remember,  _ you _ were the one who cheated on _ me _ . So don’t you dare lecture me on what’s harmless.”

Blaine gaped at Kurt, lost for words. 

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Let’s just be adults, and put everything back where it’s supposed - to- go.” He enunciated his words distinctly like he was talking to a fussy four year old.

Blaine blinked, and started stepping backwards. “Okay, I got an idea,” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t  _ you _ put it back where it’s supposed to go, because it’s  _ your _ apartment?” He then turned on his heels and stalked out of the door.

Kurt let out an exasperated breath. This was the exact way Blaine typically left their arguments: in a huff of childish indignance. No apologies, no concessions or compromise. He usually just waited for Kurt to come around.

"Fine," Kurt called after him, though it wasn't fine at all. "I will!"


	3. Chapter 3

**ELLIOTT**

Elliott entered the Spotlight Diner and saw Kurt almost right away. He was wiping down a table in an empty section of the restaurant. Elliott waited for him to look up and then waved. Kurt nodded, glanced over his shoulder at the bar, then picked up a menu and headed his way.

“Hello, welcome to Spotlight. I am Kurt, I’ll be your chorus boy waiter today,” he said loudly, and then added quietly “Sorry, I can’t take an intermission so soon after starting my shift. Are you okay? Your text didn’t say much, it got me kinda worried.”

Elliott grimaced. “I’m okay. I just really need to talk to you.”

Kurt cocked his head. “So your text said. Come on.” He lead Elliott to a quiet corner table away from the other customers and put the menu down in front of him.

“I’m gonna do the ketchups!” he yelled towards the bar, and went over to the table he had been cleaning to pick up a tray with a dozen or so ketchup bottles on it. He brought the tray back to Elliott’s side of the diner and put them down on the table behind him. Elliott watched for a moment as Kurt unscrewed the tops, put a funnel into one of the bottles, and refilled it with the contents of another bottle.

“That’s...kind of gross,” Elliott remarked.

Kurt shrugged. “It’s not the grossest thing around here. And we go through so much ketchup, this stuff is never much older than a week anyway. But better not have any, just to be safe.” He put the empty bottle down and picked up another one to look busy. “So what’s this about?”

“It’s Blaine,” Elliott said. “He came to my place.”

Kurt stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “When? Just now?”

“Yeah. I was just cooking when he knocked. Well, pounded, actually, like he was trying to break my door down.”

“Oh god. He must have come directly from the loft…” Kurt let out. “We sort of had a fight.”

Elliott nodded. “I figured as much. He was pretty upset. When I opened the door, he just walzed in without saying anything, with like, steam coming from his ears.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and offered Elliott an apologetic look.

“So, at first I was afraid he was going to announce he was moving in, you know, Rachel-style, because you kids from Ohio tend to do that-” he chuckled, “but it turned out he wanted to talk to me about you.”

_ “We need to talk,” Blaine announced angrily. Before Elliott could say anything, Blaine continued. “I don’t have your number and I don’t have your email, and we’re not friends on facebook, because I made it a point to wait for YOU to friend me-” _

_ Elliott tried to speak up again, but Blaine plowed on. _

_ “-which you never did by the way, so here I am, face to face…. And I just wanna hear you admit it.” _

_ “Admit what?” Elliott asked, a little baffled. What on earth had he done- well, lately anyway- to offend Blaine? _

_ Blaine was making an impatient gesture with his hands. “That you’re trying to steal Kurt away from me, Starchild Gilbert!” He spat out Elliott’s stage name like it was a bad fruit. _

_ Elliott frowned. “What what are you talking about?” he asked, snorting a little. _

_ “Oh puh-lease,” Blaine let out affectedly, “I was on to you the second I saw that weird cinnamon roll selfie you took months ago that you guys posted. You remember that? With you slobbering over my fiancé?” _

_ “It was a friendly peck on the-” Elliott tried to counter. _

_ “And then I get to New York and all of the sudden it’s ‘Elliott thinks this and Elliott thinks that and Elliott’s hair is so full and thick it doesn’t have to rely on hair gel-” _

Despite the situation, Kurt let out a yelp of a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand quickly and checking the counter to see if his employer had heard him. No one was paying them any notice. “He  _ said _ that?” Kurt whispered.

“I know, weird right?”

“Well, I do love your hair,” Kurt mused, but then shook his head a little as if to clear it. “Go on. Then what?”

“Then, Blaine got  _ really _ weird…” Elliott said.

_ “I may not be a cool steampunk glitterrock vampire with, like, tats and guyliner, but you know what? I love Kurt. I love him. He is MY fiance, not yours, so back off!” _

Kurt was watching Elliott with a frown on his face. Elliott wasn’t sure how to interpret his expression. He struggled to explain. “I know it sounds kind of sweet, but you should have seen the way he said it. Man, he was like….a maniac or something. You know, like he had you chained up on his basement or in a dry well somewhere and I was snooping around too much.”

Kurt smirked at that last comparison, but his smile faded rather fast. “I know what you mean.”

Elliott’s stomach dropped a little. “You do? Is he like that often?” He hesitated. Kurt had told him a lot about Blaine, but he never said anything about him being so aggressive. “He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

Kurt quickly shook his head and started refilling ketchup bottles again. “No, of course not.” He was quiet for a moment. “What did you say to him?”

Elliott sighed. “Well, I tried to calm him down, and I told him that we’re just friends. You know, that you’re amazing and cute, but that I don’t think of you like that."

Kurt’s expression became a little guarded. Elliott noticed, but he knew he had to go on and get over the difficult part now.

“So he sat down and told me how hard it is for him to catch up with you here in New York and that he’s trying so hard. I told him he’s trying a little  _ too _ hard,” he offered Kurt a little smile, “and I tried to put it in his head that you need a little room to breathe.” Elliott paused and braced himself. “Then, he tried to kiss me.”

“ _ What _ ?!” 

Several customers were looking their way now, but Kurt ignored them. He was looking at Elliott with wide eyes, and his face had gone pale.

“I don’t even know how it happened. He was talking and I was trying to be comforting and suddenly, he just scoots over, grabs my face and plants one on me,” Elliott said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I didn’t encourage him or anything.”

“Yeah. No… He does that,” Kurt mumbled. “What did you do?"

“Well, I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want him doing that, and he up and left. Without saying anything.”

Kurt let out a long breath and stared at the ketchup bottles in front of him.

“There’s more,” Elliott admitted, and he could see Kurt’s posture grow rigid. “I didn’t think to tell you back then because I thought it had been some kind of misunderstanding, but- this is not the first time he hit on me.”

“It’s not,” Kurt said flatly.

“I wasn’t sure at the time,” Elliott hurried to explain, “and I didn’t want to make trouble between you two, but… when he came to visit you a few months ago, with Sam, when they were making plans to move here..."

Kurt didn't nod, nor indeed showed any indication that he had heard what his friend had said as he stared ahead, but Elliott figured he was listening anyway. 

"You invited us all to that music bar, I forget what it's called-"

"Callbacks," Kurt said, then somberly added: "Why is it always Callbacks?" 

Elliott wasn't sure what to say to that, so he continued.

"When you and Dani were singing, Blaine started asking me stuff like how long had I lived in New York, and if I knew my way around? I offered to take you two on a sightseeing tour, but he said he only asked because you were so busy that week and he was looking for some things to do on his own."

Kurt's head snapped up. "I skipped several classes to spend time with him! And I traded Dani for the breakfast shift here all week because he slept until eleven every day anyway!"

Elliott held up his hands in a defensive gesture, trying to remind Kurt he was just the messenger. Kurt mumbled an apology, but Elliott shook his head.

"Then what?" Kurt prompted again.

"Well, he kind of implied that the  _ real _ sights he wanted to see were in the Village...with me. He said Sam might be interested in coming along too. It made me super-uncomfortable, so... I told him he should wait until you had time to go with him."

"He tends to make  _ me _ uncomfortable when I come along, too," Kurt said grimly. He started loading the ketchup bottles back on the tray.

Elliott felt awful. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was really hoping it had been a misunderstanding." 

Kurt nodded and continued his arrangement of the bottles. Elliott felt even worse now, knowing it meant his friend was retreating behind his shields.

"I hope you know I would never, ever, try to steal your man," he said, reaching over the back of his seat to put his hand on Kurt's arm.

Kurt froze. Elliott quickly let go.

"I know. It's not you, I'm just..." Kurt broke off and let out a shuddering breath. "I knew this was coming but I still kind of hoped it wouldn't, you know? There are only so many times you can forgive someone."

"So what are you gonna do?" Elliott asked.

"I don't know," Kurt said, picking up the tray. "But I have a whole shift to think about it."

Elliott left. He had offered to stay and take refills of diet soda until he could walk Kurt home, but Kurt said he preferred to be alone. It worried Elliott, but he knew that was the way Kurt dealt with things. Still, the way he took the news? Most people would probably get angry... Kurt just seemed to accept it as an inevitability. It was so messed up.

As he rode the subway, Elliott stared into the dark tunnel and wondered why Blaine - or anyone- would do something like that to Kurt. Especially after all the things Kurt had already let Blaine get away with. But maybe that's exactly why he did it. Because he could. Blaine had probably learned not to expect any serious consequences for his actions. 

Kurt had told Elliott about high school, and the way Blaine had publicly accused him of cheating even though  _ he _ had been the first to allow a flirty friendship to cross the lines, and how to this day Kurt wasn't even sure how  _ far _ those lines had been crossed - but that Kurt eventually apologized to Blaine. Elliott also knew Blaine had cheated on Kurt when he was in Ohio and Kurt was in New York, but that Kurt still felt partially responsible for that. It was hard to understand why Kurt had accepted Blaine's proposal after everything, but then again, Elliott knew a thing or two about unhealthy relationships and being young. He looked at his own reflection in the glass and spent the rest of his way thinking about the time he was new in New York.


	4. Chapter 4

**KURT**

In the end, Kurt had been too impatient to wait for his shift to end, and he had tried to call Blaine during his intermission. Repeatedly. He eventually reached Sam, who was looking for a new place to stay now that he could afford it, and Sam said he hadn't seen Blaine since that afternoon when he was "taping off his crime-scene". Kurt felt Sam's description was very fitting for what Blaine had done to his  _ chi _ .

But where was he?

Blaine still hadn't come home by the time Kurt came back from the diner. Kurt changed out of his uniform, showered, and got dressed again, anticipating the heavy slide of the loft door and dreading it at the same time. He sat down on the couch, took up a magazine, and stared at the pages until the words blurred in front of his eyes. He didn't know what he was going to do- though with every minute Blaine stayed away it became clearer what he  _ should _ do.

Finally, the door slid open and Blaine tiptoed in.

"Hey," Kurt said, startling him.

"Hi," Blaine replied, lingering at the door as if trying to guess Kurt's mood before stepping into the apartment. 

"So, you went to see Elliott," Kurt prompted, curious as to what Blaine was going to say about it.

Blaine's eyes went a little wider and he remained at the door, standing still like a deer in headlights. 

“Uh, yeah. I did. What did he say?”

"He said the two of you talked about how you were having trouble adjusting to the... pace of the city."

_ Say something. At least tell me the truth. You owe me that _ , Kurt begged silently, but Blaine just nodded and looked relieved.

"Yeah. He's a good guy," Blaine said. "He's a good friend to you."

_ Better than you think _ , Kurt thought. "He's one of the only real friends I’ve made since I came here. He texted me as soon as you left his apartment." He paused. "Six hours ago."

The implication was clear. Blaine didn't say anything, but Kurt, who had a lot of experience in trying to read Blaine's facial expressions, knew he was starting to feel nervous.

"So I guess I’ve just been wondering where you’ve been..." he added, giving Blaine one more chance to come clean on his own accord.

"I thought you had to work?" Blaine asked sharply, probably hoping to deflect the topic.

"I did, but it sounded like something we should talk about, so I tried calling you. Over and over." Kurt crossed his arms, bracing himself.

"Well, I um… actually took a….water taxi to the Statue of Liberty," Blaine fumbled. "I just needed some space so I could think, I guess."

Kurt repressed a scoff.  _ He _ needed space?! Then he shook his head.

"I went to the High Line on my way home to do the same," he said quietly.

He had considered a lot of options. Putting Blaine's things by the door (in a box to the left) seemed too dramatic. Taking a break to spend time with his dad felt like running away (and he had work, school and his band). So once more, he had decided to try and talk it out with Blaine...only what use was that when Blaine either shut down the conversation or even worse- lied by omission? 

"I think-" Kurt started.

"Wait. Can I go first?" Blaine cut in, giving Kurt a shy look.

Kurt could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he rubbed his arms.  _ Here we go,  _ he told himself.  _ Confession time.  _ He nodded wordlessly, afraid of what Blaine was going to say even though he already knew what it was.

"I was thinking, maybe we should schedule, like, one bro-day every week," Blaine announced.

"Uh...a what?" Kurt asked, baffled.

"Well, you said you were feeling crowded, so I figured, if we each have one day of the week to hang out with our friends instead of with each other, you can let it all out. I could do something with Sam and you could do those things you do with Elliott, like... hanging out at the music store and stuff. It would keep the weekends free for us, too!"

"And by 'and stuff' I assume you mean my band rehearsals?" Kurt asked.

Blaine's casual shrug confirmed it, and Kurt got furious.

All the tension that had been building up over the past hours broke loose. "A bro- day," he repeated. "A BRO-DAY?! That's it,  _ that _ 's your solution?"

"Well, it's a start," Blaine said patronizingly, "I wasn't saying that would solve  _ all _ of our problems..."

"I don't see how it would," Kurt remarked coldly.

"Well, what's  _ your _ idea then?" Blaine let out. "More relationship tips you read in Vogue magazine? Or shall we just try turning our couch 90 degrees clockwise to improve the  _ energy flow  _ in the room?"

"No," Kurt replied slowly. "It's actually even simpler. How about you tell me the truth about what happened at Elliott's? That you kissed him?"

Blaine's lips formed an "Oh" and he raised his eyebrows. Then he regained control over his features and worked them into a scowl. "Why? You already know anyway. I should have known. The two of you are always texting like school girls. I don't even want to know all the things you've told him about us-" 

"He also told me you hit on him before and he turned you down," Kurt continued, ignoring Blaine's counter attack. "So not only did you kiss someone else- you did it without their permission. You of all people should know how I feel about that."

"You make it sound like I planned it!" Blaine protested. "It wasn't like that at all!"

"Then what was it like? You tripped and fell on his mouth?" Kurt asked.

Blaine let out a frustrated huff of air. "No! I was just-... We were talking and he was so sweet, so helpful, and... I don't know- I just got overwhelmed."

"Funny, no one kissed me at the diner today and yet I was so sweet and helpful too," Kurt said sarcastically. "Really Blaine? You got overwhelmed? You walked around for six hours at the Statue of Liberty and that's the best you came up with?"

Kurt sighed. "A trip we promised we'd take together by the way," he reminded Blaine. "I waited with going there for months for you to move here so we could make a memory there."

"We could still do that," Blaine tried, "I could just go again."

"It wouldn't be the same," Kurt said sadly, and felt like he had just described their entire relationship since Eli C.

Somehow, Blaine seemed to have caught that, too. He suddenly looked very contrite. They were both silent for a while.

"Kurt," Blaine then said softly, "I wasn't at the Statue of Liberty."

Kurt closed his eyes.

"I went to meet someone from Grindr."

Kurt wanted to stop listening, but he couldn't. Blaine kept talking, and it felt like he was carving every word into Kurt's heart.

"I did it for us. You seemed so unsatisfied lately, I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. You have no idea how it made me feel knowing I couldn't give you what you needed-"

Something snapped inside of Kurt.

"Don't you dare pin this on me again!" he yelled, pointing his finger forbiddingly at Blaine. "If you wanted to know what I needed, you could have asked me. What you're saying is bullshit. You met up with someone because you were horny, end of story. And you know what, Blaine? You went too far this time." 

Kurt turned on his heels and walked to their shared bedroom. He grabbed something from the suitcase under his bed and came stalking back with angry strides. "Here," he said, thrusting a sheet of paper at Blaine. 

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Come on, Kurt," he sighed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oprah's No More Cheating Contract, printed from her website. You signed it before we got engaged." When Blaine wouldn't take it, Kurt threw it on the floor between them. "Oprah is not ridiculous," he said. "And neither is wanting a faithful husband." And with that, he took Blaine's engagement ring from his finger and held it out.

Blaine stared at it, then looked at Kurt. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yes," Kurt heard himself say. He felt like he was watching a daytime tv-drama instead of living his own life. This couldn't be real, could it?

"You'll regret doing this," Blaine threatened, and took the ring from Kurt's trembling palm. 

"I'm gonna go so you can pack," Kurt said, feeling hollow. "I want you gone before I come back." With a terse smile, he added: "You can get a place with Sam and have bro-days every day."

Kurt grabbed his coat and his phone and walked out of the loft without looking back.

Once he was outside and a few blocks away, it hit him what he had just done, and he took out his phone. He needed his band, and he needed them now.


	5. Chapter 5

**ELLIOTT**

“And so there he was, with three school choirs at his back, giving some kind of grand speech about us being soul mates, and all I could do was stare at that hideous suit. Suddenly all I could think about was that hotdog commercial that they used to show at the open air cinema in Lima when we were kids, you know, the one with the singing and dancing conditiments? I actually missed my own proposal because I kept hearing that hotdog song in my head!”

Santana, whose grin had grown ever bigger during Kurt’s tirade, now nearly laughed herself breathless. “Mr Mustard!” she wheezed, “Oh my god!”

“ _We make your – hot dog – taste deli – cious_!!” Kurt and Santana yelled more or less melodiously over the loud music of the club, and then cracked up and high-fived.

Dani was looking at the both of them skeptically, and was obviously not familiar with the song.

Elliott didn’t know it either, but a laughing Kurt - be it inebriated - was definitely better than the silent, pale ghost of a man he had picked up at the loft a few hours ago.

_“It’s not your fault.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”_

_Head down, brow furrowed, teeth biting down on his bottom lip. It was very clear to Elliott that Kurt was just telling him what he thought Elliott wanted to hear. Kurt did blame himself; for not being interesting enough to keep Blaine from straying, maybe for failing to apply all ‘12 tips on how to keep your man’. Elliott’d give anything to chase those thoughts out of his mind._

It was unusual to see Kurt drunk. He usually joined Elliott in sobriety when they hit the clubs. Kurt didn’t need alcohol to go all out on the dance floor, and with his busy schedule he also couldn’t afford to be hung over the next morning. But tonight wasn’t (just) about dancing, it was about making a fresh start into a new life phase- and like a ship on its maiden voyage, it needed to be christened. At least, that was the excuse they were using tonight to cheer Kurt up. If nothing else, it did allow for a hearty array of sailor puns.

And after the fifth shot or so, Kurt had arrived at that oh-so-natural state of a bad break-up: sharing embarrassing anecdotes about the ex. Elliott thought he already knew the most of it, but clearly Kurt had kept some of the worst stories to himself. Out of loyalty, perhaps? The more Elliott heard, the happier he was that Kurt had thrown Blaine out the door.

“- I know it sounds hilarious, but the guy was actually fired,” Kurt finished telling his GAP story (that one, Elliott did know, but Dani hadn’t). “Blaine basically outed him.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Dani swore, “that’s _so_ wrong.”

“Yeah,” Santana added, clearly lost in her own thoughts.

Inebriated as he was, Kurt seemed to pick up on that and a sad expression briefly flitted across his face. “Well, some people learn. Others don’t,” he offered. Santana nodded, and tried to be circumspect about wiping at her eyes.

Elliott realized once again that there was a definite depth to their relationship, usually hidden by insults and quips. Every once in awhile it showed, and as soon as it did, one of them would quickly make a joke or leave with an excuse, lest someone think they might actually care.

As if on cue, Kurt excused himself with a jaunty salute to ‘hit the head’. Elliott watched him wind his way through the dancing crowd, shimming his shoulders a little to the music. As Elliott turned back to their table, his two companions were engaged in a lively discussion.

“Two weeks,” Dani said.

Santana scrunched up her nose.

“Or ten days?” Dani added. “Ten to fourteen days.”

Santana shook her head. “Nah. That’s way too long. Five days, tops. He’s gotta consider the competition.”

“Um, what are we talking about?” Elliott asked.

The two women turned to face him slowly and grinned. They couldn’t look more like a pair of scheming cats if they had whiskers.

“Why, the perfect time for you to make your move, of course,” Santana said sweetly.

“My move?” Elliott asked, looking from one to the other.

“Your move on Kurt,” Dani explained. “We narrowed it down to the next two weeks-”

“Next week,” Santana corrected, and nodded firmly as if it was decided.

“Sometime between next week and the week after that,” Dani agreed.

“Wha- what? Woah- no. I’m not making a move on Kurt!” Elliott protested. “I’m-! He’s-! We’re just friends!”

“Well, yeah, right now you are,” Dani said. “Because you’re a decent guy and he was engaged. But now he’s not…so you can totally go for it. But not tonight. Tonight’s too soon.” She pointed her finger at Elliott for emphasis.

Elliott shook his head. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but…“

“You can’t fool us, _Starchild_ ,” Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been flirting with him since day one. You practically threw yourself at him during your audition and then begged to be in his band-”

“Only you meant his _bed_ ,” Dani added cheekily.

“And it’s always been Kurt this and Kurt that, _Kurt’s the leader of our band, he should decide_ ,” Santana continued. “You totally have the hots for him.”

Elliott was reeling a little. The loud music of the club pulsed through his veins in a fast beat, sending his brain into overdrive. Was it true? Of course he hadn’t failed to notice how hot Kurt was (because, _hello_ , he wasn’t blind), but Kurt had been off-limits from the start so Elliott had honestly never given it more thought. In a way, it made their friendship a lot easier. There was no pressure to impress, to send subtle messages, to keep a secret agenda. He could unwind and be himself around Kurt, and that had made it work from the start. But apparently, he had been broadcasting not-so-secret messages for their friends to pick up without even knowing it. Had Kurt noticed, too?

Elliott shook his head a little. “Okay, well, even if that _were_ true,” he said, and Santana and Dani exchanged knowing glances, “that doesn’t mean Kurt feels the same way.”

“Oh, he does,” Santana said. “Believe me. When you walked into that audition, I could literally smell the pheromones flood the room. There was a solid reason he didn’t get up and applaud you after your song, and it had nothing to do with not liking your performance, and everything to do with his designer shorts.”

Elliott shook his head in denial. He felt weird and slightly grossed out by Santana talking about his friend like that, and at the same time is was oddly… flattering? Still, it couldn’t be true. If anything, Kurt had probably gotten a little…over-excited by his potential to add Elliott’s vocals to his band. Elliott knew his voice was his best asset.

“That doesn’t make sense. I’m not even his type!” Elliott protested. “I mean, look at Blaine. I’m honestly a little insulted that you’d think we have anything in common-”

Santana waved her hand dismissively. “Blaine never was Kurt’s type,” she said. “He was just the only openly gay guy Kurt knew back at school. And likewise for Blaine. Two little blazer-gays looking to update their facebook status.”

“How convenient,” Dani added.

“Now, let me show you Kurt’s type,” Santana said with a sparkle in her eyes, and took out her phone. She put it down on the table for Elliott and Dani to see.

“Wow,” Dani said. “You know I don’t drive stick, but hot damn.”

“Hmm-hmm,” Santana agreed.

Elliott swallowed hard. “Who is that?” he croaked.

“Mr Martinez,” Santana said, letting the name roll off her tongue with relish. “A substitute Spanish teacher at McKinley. Now this guy had _duende_.”

“He looks a bit like Ricky Martin,” Elliott said, squinting at the picture. “And he was gay?”

Santana nodded. “Definitely. We did a super-sexy dance number together in Glee club and he never even so much as copped a feel.”

Dani smirked. “Totally gay,” she confirmed, as if Santana’s womanly curves were a universally accepted standard test for sexual attraction. She was probably right.

“So did he and Kurt-?” Elliott couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated as he looked at the man.

Santana shook her head. “I bet he wanted to. Kurt was showing off everything he had for the guy. I’m serious, you could have checked for mumps in those skinny jeans, and his little dance moves were anything but subtle.” She raised jazz hands and shook her shoulders a little for emphasis. “But Mr Martinez would have gotten fired, and Kurt was already with Blaine by then, so I guess he wouldn’t have really done it. But it was clear Kurt was tempted, too.”

Elliott tried to process this information, but his mind seemed to get stuck on the description of Kurt’s jeans.

“Focus,” Dani said, snapping her fingers in front of Elliott’s face. “Now what do you and Mr Martinez have in common?”

“Uh…”

Santana rolled her eyes and tapped a well-manicured finger on her phone’s display. “You’re both tall. You have super-gorgeous, thick hair-”

Elliott smiled a little to himself, remembering Kurt’s little sigh as he had casually mentioned how much he loved his hair.

“Sexy tats,” Dani added. “An actual fitting wardrobe.”

“You can both wear that five-o-clock shadow without looking like a hobo-” Santana continued. “And Mr Martinez was totally ripped.” She gave Elliott a quick glance-over. “Well, you can work on that.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Elliott let out, subconsciously sucking in his stomach.

“Be nice,” Dani said to Santana, and then turned to Elliott. “Look, I don’t know this Spanish teacher, but you are everything Blaine is not, in a good way. And not just in appearance. I can see how Kurt is around you, you’re good for each other.”

“Thanks,” Elliott mumbled. Before he could say anything else, Kurt was coming back through the crowd. Santana saw him too and pocketed her phone.

“Think about it,” she said.

Dani gave him a fat wink and then, right on time, both of the women’s faces were innocent blanks.

“Anyone want to dance?” Kurt asked as he reached their table.

“Yeah, Elliott,” Santana said. “Us girls have to go powder our noses.”

Kurt turned to him, looking happily intoxicated and none the wiser about their conversation. “Elliott?” he asked.

“Uh… sure. Yeah,” Elliott replied, and let himself be lead onto the dance floor. He definitely had something to think about.


	6. Chapter 6

**KURT**

When Elliott greeted him with a careful “hey, how are you feeling?” instead of his usual cheerful smile, it pretty much confirmed Kurt’s fears. He groaned and closed his eyes briefly behind his dark sunglasses.

“Please tell me I _didn’t_ climb on a table wearing my tie wrapped around my head, singing _Too Sexy_ by Right Said Fred,” he begged his friend, his own voice sounding painfully loud in his head.

“Santana has pictures,” Elliott said with a smirk.

“Urgh.”

Elliott chuckled a little. “It wasn’t so bad,” he offered, and nudged Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “You were loud, but not off-key. And there were definitely more than a few guys agreeing that you were ‘too sexy for your shirt’ and demanding you take it off.”

Kurt’s horror must have shown on his face, because Elliott quickly added: “You didn’t, though.”

“Thank god,” Kurt said, and then sighed and slipped a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I guess if that really happened, I also didn’t dream throwing up over your shoes when you helped me out of my taxi.”

Elliott scrunched up his nose. “I’m afraid you also did that, yes.”

“See, this is why I don’t drink,” Kurt muttered angrily. “I’m really sorry. I should have known better.”

“Hey, these things happen,” Elliott said. “We’ve all been there before.”

Kurt shook his head, then realized that was a bad idea and steadied himself with one hand on Elliott’s arm to stop the world from swaying. “No, you don’t understand. When I get drunk, horrible things happen. The first time I drank alcohol, I threw up over my student counsellor and called her Bambi!”

Elliott snorted a little. “Did you get into trouble?”

“Not as much as the woman who gave it to me,” Kurt replied, “but I didn’t drink again for a long while after that. I still feel guilty every time I smell disinfectant.”

Elliott was looking at him with a warm smile, and instead of feeling embarrassed, Kurt accepted that the story probably did sound kind of funny in the retelling. “Then there was the time I almost got a tattoo…” he said.

Now Elliott went wide-eyed. “What? Really?”

Kurt knew Elliott wasn’t judging him- he wouldn’t, with all the tattoos he had himself - and his enthusiastic curiosity encouraged Kurt to tell the story. They started walking down the street, Kurt still holding Elliott’s arm.

“A few months ago, Rachel dragged me to a tattoo parlour. It was a few weeks after Finn had died and I guess we were both just…numb, going through our routines without really connecting with anything. She had this idea that getting a tattoo might ‘shock us back into life’, so to say.” Kurt pressed his lips together in a thin smile. Thinking about that time was still painful. “To get over our nerves, we shared some awful hooch that she had smuggled in with her purse. It tasted like lemons and gasoline. By the time we were finally up, the tattoo guy took one look at us- or maybe just one sniff- and threw us out of the door. He told us to come back when we sobered up.”

"I’m glad. It shows you went to the right place, with responsible artists,” Elliott said.

“He literally saved my skin. I thought about sending him a thank-you card but he didn’t seem like the type who’d appreciate it.”

Elliott nodded. “Yeah, well, he wasn’t just doing you a favour. He could lose his license if you sued him for assault afterwards.“

"I owe him anyway,” Kurt said, pointing at the sign of a large warehouse to show where he wanted to go. “Over there. Reasonable prices, good lighting in the fitting rooms. Not too bright.” He straightened his sunglasses.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Elliott asked with concern in his voice. “It’s not that important.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss an opportunity for a make-over if I had just lost both my legs,” Kurt replied.

Elliott grinned and steered them towards the shop. “So do you remember what you were going to get? For the tattoo I mean?” he asked.

“Mmm. Another reason why I’m glad; and not just because I misspelled it on my order sheet.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows. “Not you ex’s name, right? That’d be so corny…”

“God, no. I was drunk, not brain dead. _It gets better_ ,” Kurt cited. “I still felt differently about that a few months ago, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I mean, yeah, it got a little better for me after high school, and a little worse in some ways, but generally better. And maybe hearing that gives hope to some people. But for me, when I was lying in a dumpster with a broken wrist, or bleaching cherry slushie stains from my white jeans so people would stop calling them _period pants_ -”

Elliott winced.

“-or when I had to watch my dad suffer abuse for having a gay son- I didn’t want vague promises about a far away future. I needed it to be better _then_.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Elliott said. He put a hand on Kurt’s and pressed it.

Kurt sighed. He had intended the tattoo story to be a funny and slightly self-deprecating ‘alcohol escapades’ story, but it had somehow turned serious and depressing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being a downer. Let me just get a coffee-to-go at the bistro inside and then I’ll be good to go for your business look. What kind of job are you looking for anyway?” He rattled his words off fast, not giving Elliott the opportunity to say anything more about the previous topic- a useful tactic that always worked with his dad. 

Elliott looked at him from the side for a moment - clearly he had noticed - but then nodded and looked back at the shop.

“Anything I can get, but I’m really hoping for something administrative with flexible hours. Callcenter, maybe? I am not looking to fill my resumé, I just need the money. I could probably get something in my every-day get-up too, but I figured the snobby places probably pay better.”

Kurt snorted. “Yes, probably. So I guess we’ll go conservative, cover up, business tie-” Somehow, his head already hurt less now that he had something fresh to focus on.

They wound through the men’s department looking at dress shirts and jackets, touching fabrics and holding them out for the colors.

“How about this? It’s no-crease,” Elliott said, holding out a rather plain shirt. “I really hate ironing. Ain’t nobody got time for that, right?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t mind. I usually watch tv while I do it. It’s kind of relaxing.” There was something about the hot stream and the glide of the iron that Kurt found incredibly soothing.

“Well, you’re welcome to do mine at any time,” Elliott said, grinning.

“Cook for me and I just might,” Kurt replied, taking the shirt out of his hands. “This is horrible. You don’t need a cut like that, you have nothing to hide.” He put it back and nodded at another display. “Let’s try over there.”

He thought he saw a new spring in Elliott’s step as they walked to the other section. He wondered why. Did he really hate ironing that much?

*

“Are you ready?” Kurt asked.

“No. I just need… urgh! I can’t get these cuffs to cooperate.” Elliott’s voice sounded from the fitting booth.

“Need help?”

“Hnng… yeah. Yes, please.”

Kurt shook his head fondly and and pushed aside the curtain. “Okay mister Costume Studies major, let me show you how to put on a sh–” He broke off as Elliott turned around, a frustrated look on his face, the shirt in question hanging open over his naked chest. “-irt?” Kurt finished meekly, and swallowed.

After his dance and stage combat classes at NYADA and living in a single-room apartment with Sam (and Brody), Kurt was no stranger to manscaped chests and toned bodies. But none of that had prepared him for this sight. By comparison, Sam seemed like a boy. Elliott was- _well._ Very much a man. Kurt’s eyes were drawn to the inky swirls that peeked out of his shirt sleeves to his pecs. Kurt had seen the artwork on Elliott’s lower arms and had secretly wondered what other tattoos he might have…and where. His question was answered as he spotted a similar design snaking out of Elliott’s waistband and curling around his hips. The residue alcohol from the night before pulsed through Kurt’s veins and he felt a little lightheaded as his blood rushed south.

Elliott held out his wrists and Kurt needed a few seconds to remember what he was supposed to do. Then, he buttoned Elliott’s cuffs, which were really quite tricky. The fabric was stiff and new and the buttons set at an awkward angle to do up with one hand. “Do you need help with the-” he started, but Elliott already started doing up the other buttons by himself.

“No, thanks,” Elliott mumbled, avoiding Kurt’s eyes.

Kurt hadn’t felt this awkward towards Elliott since he accused him of trying to take over his band.

Elliott finished buttoning up and cleared his throat. “So, what do you think? Well-adjusted, responsible adult?” He struck a pose.

Kurt tried to focus. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I know it sounds rich coming from me, but that shade makes you look really pale. I’m getting you another.”

He quickly stepped out of the booth and pulled the curtain closed. What was wrong with him? Elliott was his best friend, and he had made it quite clear right from the start that he was only interested in being friends, nothing more. He had even _literally_ said he was glad Kurt didn’t want to hook up with him. It was obvious from his reaction that Kurt had made him uncomfortable.

Kurt randomly grabbed a few shirts and checked them for sizes as he tried to sort his thoughts. If he was honest to himself, something like this had been bound to happen. With his and Blaine’s sexlife leaving so much to be desired, it was actually a miracle it hadn’t happened earlier- but Kurt simply hadn’t allowed himself to look at other men while he was in a relationship. Clearly, the self-censoring goggles had been dropped, and now that he was looking, he was _seeing_.

But he couldn’t have Elliott, and that was that. Kurt was just going to have to put him out of his mind like he had once gotten over his attraction to Finn and Sam. Just because Elliott was actually gay didn’t mean he wasn’t just as much out of his league.

Kurt let out a short huff of breath, straightened his shoulders, and headed back to the fitting booths. Maybe, he mused, it would help if he found someone willing to help him through his rebound. If they knew from the start he wasn’t looking for anything serious, it would help to take the strain off his friendship with Elliott without having to invest into someone new emotionally.

That thought actually made him blush a little, and he was reminded of The Talk with his father. _I’m sorry, dad,_ he thought, _but I’m a New Yorker now._

He poked an arm passed Elliott’s curtain and held out the shirts.

“Hmm. I like the one with the birds, it’s a bit like yours, you know, the cobalt blue with the short sleeves? But isn’t that a little out there for a job interview?”

Kurt winced. He actually had no idea what he had just given Elliott.

“Well, maybe, but try it on anyway. If the cut fits, we can check for different colours online.”

“Right.”

To fill the silence as Elliott tried them on, Kurt said: “You know, I don’t say this to a lot of people, but I think you don’t really need my clothing advice.”

“I know,” Elliott said from inside the booth. “But it’s way more fun to go shopping together.”

Kurt smiled in relief. Elliott sounded normal. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing and Elliott hadn’t even noticed his indiscretion. The curtain opened and Elliott was wearing the printed shirt, neatly buttoned up to his throat.

“I like it,” he announced. “I might just get this for regular wear.”

Kurt cocked his head as he considered Elliott’s wardrobe. “It will go great with that brown leather jacket.”

Elliott’s eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. “That’s what I thought!”

As Elliott changed, Kurt checked the shirt’s brand for a suitable professional colour, this time paying attention to what he was doing, and found one with a matching tie. He also saw several printed shirts from himself to try on, and soon enough they were both in the fitting booths, chatting away over the thin wooden wall between them. The awkwardness had passed, and so had his hang-over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this AU, the misspelled tattoo and the piercing never happened. I hated that part of the ep, putting comic relief on Kurt once again and making him end up with something stupid. Yes, Chris did an amazing job on the tongue-stud-speech and he’s always hilarious when he makes Kurt go hysterical, but, you know. I like my Kurt without nonsense on him.


	7. Chapter 7

**ELLIOTT**

Elliott didn’t see much of Kurt the following weeks, as even One Three Hill practise was on temporary hiatus so that Kurt could prepare for NYADA’s Midwinter Critiques. They still texted a lot, of course, but Dani had stopped giving Elliott meaningful looks and tapping her watch, probably figuring that if Kurt didn’t have time for his band, he didn’t have time to get snatched up by another guy either.

And that was good, because Elliott really ought to be focusing on something other than Kurt right now: such as figuring out how to pay his rent. He had applied for several jobs and had been invited for a few interviews. He was now waiting to hear back from them, but even if he did get one of them, his first check wouldn’t be coming in until next month.

Elliott sighed and stared at the list in front of him. It was the product of an hour of brainstorming and listed everything he currently spent money on. He had already cancelled yoga class and his magazine subscriptions, and he had stopped taking the subway, but it wasn’t enough. His savings from last summer’s plethora of summer jobs ought to have tided him over until Christmas, but several unforeseen things had happened (as they always did) and now that money was almost gone.

His cheap sewing machine had died, beyond repair. With all his projects, he couldn’t afford not to have one, so it had to be replaced. Together with Kurt, he had scoured the Chelsea flea markets and found an ancient Husqvarna in perfect condition. It set him back 175$, but the heavy duty piece of machinery was far superior to the newer, electronic devices- if he ever needed to sew his way through a bolt of sailing canvas, denim or leather, the motor wouldn’t so much as overheat. It was heavy as a ton of bricks, and he and Kurt had taken turns carrying the case to his place. There was something decisively steampunk about oiling the parts. Elliott loved it, but that love had a price tag.

He had also needed to call the plumber once (during the weekend, why was it always the weekend when stuff broke down?) and his landlord had refused to pay for it. Like a functioning, non-leaking shower _wasn’t_ an actual necessity. Elliott didn’t complain too much about it though, figuring he needed the guy’s goodwill soon enough. Still, that took another bite out of his funds.

He had also been spending more money on clothes than he should have. It was hard not to while hanging out with Kurt. His enthusiasm was infectious and he had a great eye for bargains. The problem with bargains, though, was that they still cost money. Elliott also didn’t want to be the guy who never picked up the tab when they all went out. Having a social life on a budget was hard.

After Elliott had gone over the list one more time, he knew he had no other choice. He would have to give up his storage box.

When his mother remarried and moved in with Mr. How Will You Get A Job With All Those Tattoos, she had given Elliott an ultimatum. He had a week to come pick up his stuff that was still at her house - and go through his late father’s belongings for keepsakes-, or she’d throw it all out. Elliott had ended up loading a rental car full of competition awards, video tapes of performances, various instruments and costumes, a large amplifier and as much of his dad’s book collection as he could fit into the car.

With no real place to put all of it, he had ended up renting storage as a short-term solution. And as most short-term solutions tended to do, it had turned into a long-term thing. But at 65$ a month, it had to go. Maybe he should even sell some of the stuff in there. He hadn’t used the amp in years, and he was probably never going to have time to read all those books. It was going to be rough, but Kurt was super savvy with selling things through ebay. It was that, or do away with his vinyl collection and that was like, never happening!

Elliott looked at his uncluttered apartment (okay, the shelves in the living room were a mess but the rest was exactly the way he wanted it) and wondered where to put it all. He let out a long sigh and resigned himself to his fate. He had ten more days- the storage’s notice- to decide what to do with the stuff.


	8. Chapter 8

**KURT**

“All right, for those of you who have been living under a rock or suffer from short-term memory loss, or who, for reasons the Dean of Dance and Choreography did not reveal to me, are attending this class _without_ taking Dance 101 last year, I would like to remind you that the Midwinter Critiques are coming up,” Ms Cassandra July announced, surveying her class of leotard-clad students. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Blaine before continuing.

“They are a substantial part of this semester’s grade. You will be performing in front of the faculty and the other students who are scheduled on the same day. You are expected to show you are be able to devise a performance that incorporates learnings from your core classes as well as a general understanding of how to captivate your audience, and you get _one_ shot at it.”

She began to walk around, tapping her cane on the springy wooden floor. “I assume that for the past weeks, every teacher you have will have told you that _their_ discipline is the most important one. And now you’re wondering, ‘how am I going to find appropriate pieces to show off everything I can do and please everyone?’.”

A few of the students exchanged looks. Kurt kept his eyes on Ms July, who had a tendency to bear down on students she felt weren’t paying attention. Of course he had been asking himself the same question.

“The answer is: you can’t,” Ms July said. “No matter how multi-talented you think you are, you all have your defects. You’re not the Triple Threat your mommy, your high school teacher or your community theatre coach said you were. The whole point of these exams is to find out where your strengths lie, and to help you choose what you will be majoring in. It’s not gonna be Dance for everyone in this room. I for my part _will_ be advising to flunk some of you.”

She made eye contact with a few students, making them squirm under her gaze. Kurt knew it wasn’t an empty threat.

“The good news for you is that the final call for your grades is made by the Deans.” Ms July smiled, but it was a calculated grin. “So cheer up,” she said brightly. “Today will be all about constructive criticism.”

The class groaned as a whole. Ms July’s ‘constructive criticism’ gems from the past had included “cut off a butt cheek” as a weight loss tip, and “blisters are for babies- real dancers calluse.” She was serious about her craft, but her remarks weren’t for the faint of heart.

From the corner of his eye, Kurt could see Blaine staring at him. He did that a lot these days at the classes they shared. Kurt wasn’t sure, but he suspected Blaine was waiting for him to come around and apologise. Since that wasn’t going to happen, Kurt ignored him the best he could and took a place at the barre as far away from him as possible for their warm-ups.

Much to the envy of many in his class, Kurt had never been the target of Ms July’s barbs so far. He sometimes wondered if that was because he had complimented her abs right after being introduced, or if it was just luck. Whatever it was, it made a nice change from being the butt of almost every teacher’s jokes in high school. Even Mr. Schuester occasionally indulged in a round of casual effeminophobia to tickle some laughs from his students. Maybe, Kurt mused as he moved through his _port de bras_ , he just didn’t stick out as much here. That thought comforted him more than it he liked to admit. It wasn’t always fun to be a unicorn.

“Okay, that’s enough warm-up or I might pass out into a coma,” Ms July announced, and the music stopped. “Hit the diagonal for j _etés_. Two rows. I want to see four at least, but the hobbits among you can give me five or six.” She glanced in Blaine and Rachel’s direction, and Kurt bit the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t fair, but secretly, it was a little funny.

Though Ms July had leniently moved Rachel’s midterm the year before to accommodate her _Funny Girl_ callback, Kurt suspected that had a lot to do with pressure from above and not so much with Cassandra’s enthusiasm for Rachel herself. She didn’t play favourites and treated Rachel the same as she always had- with a cold eye for her flaws - even after she landed the role of Fanny. Rachel’s ‘new best gay’ Blaine didn’t garner her any sympathy points either - Ms July let out no opportunity to remind everyone that she never gave the go-ahead for him to join her advanced class.

Kurt watched the others as he waited for his turn in line. He knew he wasn’t bad, but he also wasn’t as graceful as some of the other students. Taking ballet classes in his formative years had helped, but he’d only gone once a week, in Lima, and he had dropped out after his mother died. He suspected the others had been taking several classes a week since toddlerhood and kept it up through high school. Then again, he wasn’t planning on majoring in dance, and he wasn’t looking to join the national ballet either. He just needed to be good enough to pass his classes.

He was almost up and he pushed his thoughts away to focus on the count of the music. He straightened his back, elongated his posture and unfolded his legs into the first jump. The rush came automatically as he jumped higher with every step, working up to a _grand jeté_ at the end of the diagonal and feeling like he was flying. He wished the mirror room was three or four times as big so he could just keep on, jumping and flying ever higher. But the room eventually ended, and he landed, daring to take a glance at Cassandra July who was standing in the corner watching them. She gave him a small, dismissive nod to direct him towards the row of waiting students. Then, she zeroed in on someone behind him.

“Oh my god, what _is t_ hat? Do you need a jet-pack or something? You’re barely leaving the ground. I can’t even tell the difference between your _chassées_ and your _grand jeté_. You get twice as many jumps as the others and you still can’t get it up.”

Some of the students around Kurt sniggered.

“I was just-” Blaine started, but Ms July cut him off and pointed sternly at the corner where he had started.

“By yourself,” she said. “No hiding behind the big boys.”

Blaine looked conflicted, but walked back and waited for her to start the music again. Kurt hadn’t seen his first line of jumps, but now he had the chance to watch. It was pretty bad. Blaine had never been much of a jumper (well, when he wasn’t letting himself drop from furniture, that was). He had no real training apart from “booty camp”. He had had trouble in West Side Story as well. Kurt knew he could improve if he practised more, but any suggestions about how he could try had met with deaf ears. It was the same thing with his vocal warm-ups; Blaine didn’t believe he needed any, and so usually ended up overstraining his vocal chords. Kurt had stopped trying to help him long ago. There was only so many times one could be told to mind their own business.

Now, he watched Blaine get his due with all the added bitterness of an old boyfriend.

“Okay, stop,” Ms July said, shaking her head as she killed the music. “Just stop. You’re wasting your fellow students’ time. And much worse: you’re wasting mine. Just stay at the barre while the rest go through a second round. Hummel. Walsh. You start. Watch and learn, grasshopper.”

Blaine stood panting and gaping at her for a moment, then shuffled off. Kurt could definitely feel his eyes on him this time. He nodded briefly at Cecily Walsh- another lucky one who hadn’t stood out enough to earn a nickname- and they waited for the music to start. Kurt was pretty sure he had been chosen because Ms July knew of his romantic past with Blaine and wanted to rub it in, but being the first to start the exercise meant he could hydrate before they continued, and that was good. He stretched out his legs, and lifted himself into the air again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the liberty of changing the midterms situation at NYADA for this chapter. I figured it made more sense if every class has an exam; not just Vocal Performance (like in canon). 
> 
> Also, There is no super-special place in Cassandra July’s heart (or class) for Rachel Berry or Blanderclown.
> 
> Finally, “with all the added bitterness” is a stolen quote from my hero, Oscar Wilde.


	9. Chapter 9

**ELLIOTT**

Kurt looked tired and pensive as he exited the campus building. He was carrying a gym bag over his shoulder and a water bottle in one hand, and was peeling at the label absentmindedly with the other. Then, he looked up and met Elliott’s eyes. His face lit up and he smiled brightly, letting go of the label to wave.

Elliott smiled back and started walking towards him. “Hey. I got your message,” he said as soon as Kurt was within hearing distance.

“I’m glad, thank you so much for coming,” Kurt replied, walking up to him to put his hands on Elliott’s upper arms and lightly brush his cheek against Elliott’s, making a kissy sound- a habit Kurt had picked up a while ago around his friends and which was, as Elliott assumed, probably the stylish thing to do at NYADA right now. Elliott didn’t mind, though he never quite knew where to put his hands. The greeting was over before he could make up his mind, and Kurt stepped back.

“I’m so beat,” he said, hiking the strap of his gym bag up on his shoulder. “I really appreciate your offer to help. I kind of panicked earlier when I found out they made Vocal Performance a black-tie event. It means I spent two weeks working on my outfit and now I can’t wear it.”

Elliott nodded. “Well, you couldn’t have known they’d dress-code your exam, I mean, who _does_ that?” he offered as they started walking towards the subway. NYADA, obviously. Elliott was sort of relieved, once again, that he was at NYU. Kurt had texted him to ask if they could meet at NYADA so they could plan their strategy on the way to the loft and not waste time once they got there.

“They didn’t last year. I checked. I spent a lot of time reading up on all the NYADA blogs about the previous years’ exams and people’s experiences and grades so I knew what to expect,” Kurt said, sounding exasperated. He sighed deeply. “Anyway, I might still get credit for my creation in Costuming, but now I need something else to wear for Voc. I have a dinner jacket that might be appropriate, but it needs letting out at the shoulders and maybe even the entire front, _and_ it has an embroidery on the pocket that I am not sure will come off cleanly.” He sighed. “Plus, I _like_ that embroidery and don’t really want to pick it off.”

Elliott nodded again, taking it in. The subway came, and they boarded. “What about the one you wore to our first One Three Hill gig?”

Kurt gave him an unhappy look. “Blaine killed that in the washing machine.”

“What?!” Elliott asked, outraged. “He threw it in the machine?”

“Yep,” Kurt confirmed grimly. “I’m still not sure why, because he always brought his own jackets to the dry-cleaner. I think he said something like he didn’t notice it in the hamper. Like I would throw it in there.”

“Right,” Elliott mumbled, and added one more item to the list of _why-Kurt-should-have-ditched-Blaine-long-ago_ in his head. “Well, mine’s too big. Dani’s?”

“That was a rental.”

“Oh. Bummer. Can’t _you_ get a rental?”

“And risk a costume malfunction during my midterm?” Kurt replied, wagging a finger at him. “You know the first rule of theatre. Never perform without a dress rehearsal. I can’t do that in a rental. It’s too short notice. And they might not have the exact size available, or I end up with a suit smelling like cigarettes or fabreze. Rental is not an option. I have 22 hours left to make and practise in a new outfit.”

“And get some sleep,” Elliott added.

“Sleep is overrated,” Kurt replied, and yawned.

“We’ll figure something out,” Elliott said, and patted Kurt’s hand.

“Thanks,” Kurt said again, and the look he gave him made Elliott feel like he had just donated one of his kidneys.

*

Not much later, Elliott was on his knees holding the bottom of a tape measure at the jacket’s hem while Kurt held the top pressed to his shoulder seam. Elliott was humming along to one of Kurt’s T-Rex albums with a few pins between his lips. The loft door slid open.

“Oh my god, could you be any gayer?” Santana greeted them at the sight.

“Sure,” Kurt replied, completely unfazed, and unzipped his jeans in front of Elliott’s face.

Santana sputtered and pretended to be disgusted, clasping a hand over her eyes and waving at him to put himself away as she walked on through to the kitchen.

Elliott looked up and saw Kurt winking at him. He knew it was just a joke, but damn- he had nearly swallowed a pin. He quickly pulled them out of his mouth.

“You realize you don’t live here anymore, right Santana?” Elliott asked to deflect from his flushed face, as she carried half a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise, pickles and two tomatoes from the fridge to the kitchen table.

“Neither do you, sweet cheeks,” she replied, and started making a sandwich.

“Yeah, well, I invited him over for an emergency midwinter critique outfit rescue mission,” Kurt said, zipping up again. “What are you doing here?”

Santana shrugged. “Just thought I’d stop by to see how you were holding up without Bozo. I figured you were probably having an orgy with half of NYADA and might need some more condoms.”

“Very thoughtful,” Kurt said drily.

“That’s me,” Santana said, and bit into her sandwich with relish.

“Rent is due, huh?” Kurt asked.

Santana took a very long time to chew, then shrugged.

“You can stay if you let us work. There’s some cheese in the blue tupperware box, if you want.”

“Gotcha,” Santana replied, and got up. “You may continue to work it.” She circled her finger in the air at Kurt’s crotch.

“Just ignore her,” Kurt said quietly. “Sometimes she forgets we’re not in high school any more and she doesn’t need to pretend to hate me to keep the bullies off her back.”

“I heard that,” Santana said from the kitchen.

Elliott just shook his head. He’d probably never stop feeling bad every time Kurt casually mentioned the abuse he went through at school.

As he tried to focus back on the hem of the jacket, he noticed something. “Hey,” he mumbled, and peered inside the embroidered pocket. It was sewn shut with a few invisible stitches- a pocket never intended to actually be used as a pocket- and he poked a finger inside, feeling at the fabric. “It’s doubled.”

“Huh?”

Elliott reached for a small pair of sewing scissors on the coffee table and cut the stitches. “The inside of the pocket. It’s not lined, they just doubled the outside fabric. Which means you could just-”

“Take it off,” Kurt finished, “and flip it.”

“Without having to take off the embroidery. Flip it back after your midterm.”

“You are a genius,” Kurt exclaimed, hopping up and down excitedly. Elliott grinned.

“Get a room,” sounded from the kitchen half-heartedly.


	10. Chapter 10

**KURT**

_His arms. Oh, those arms! Kurt followed the swirly lines on them with his lips, kissing and biting the inky patterns tenderly but with rising urgency as the man above him moved with increasing passion, jostling him so much on the mattress he needed to plant his hands flat against the headboard to keep from hitting his head over and over again. Ah - ah! Suddenly, a smirking, smug face came into his vision and whispered: “See, this is what I learned at the Statue of Liberty.”_

With a scream, Kurt sat up in his bed, clammy with cold sweat. What a nightmare! Granted, it had started out pretty hot- he shifted in his sheets, still partly aroused- but as it turned out, he couldn’t even _fantasize_ about another man without Blaine interfering. He checked his alarm. Maybe it was just as well. There was no time to pursue this guilty pleasure in the shower. He had to get up and get ready for his midterm.

He heard Rachel’s alarm go off too, and quickly jumped out of bed in order to beat her to the shower. She was also slotted in for today. In their shared classes, _Berry, Rachel_ , was usually called up before _Hummel, Kurt_ \- but with Madame Tibideaux, you never knew. She liked to randomly call out names from her list to startle people, shocking them into giving their best performance (or their worst?) like she had when she suddenly sprung Kurt’s NYADA audition on him at the Winter Showcase the year before. No, Kurt might just as likely be the very first performer of the day, so Rachel had no excuse to bully him out of his shower-time. He hurried through the kitchen, hitting the coffee machine’s on-button on his way, and locked the door of their small bathroom firmly behind him. He ignored the protests from the other bedroom and ran the hot water, humming the melody of his song. If he thought about Elliott at all, it was subconsciously.

*

  
Kurt had been right in assuming Madame Tibideaux would mix it up in the Round Room. He was called up after _Terrance, Kensington_ and before Rachel. Blaine, who was also in the audience, hadn’t had his turn yet either.

Blaine had gone white tie. _Of course_ , Kurt thought spitefully as he looked down on his own outfit. Blaine always had to one-up everyone, break the rules just a little to show that he could. He remembered how Blaine would tell him to tone it down at Dalton only to jump on to the furniture in their common room himself, like he was the only one above the rules. It stirred up a lot of emotions inside of Kurt, and that was good- he could use them as fuel for his song.

Terrance left the floor and Kurt rose from his seat.

“My name is Kurt Hummel,” he announced, looking out over the audience, “and I shall be singing a Sondheim classic from _Follies_ -” He saw Rachel shoot daggers at him from her eyes, and he ignored her. If she thought his song choice was inappropriate, she could tell him at home, afterwards. He had taken care never to rehearse when she was there to stop her from giving unwanted “advice”. That would have only made him doubt his own choices. Blaine was glaring at him too. Well, he’d have more to glare about once Kurt started singing.

He nodded at the conductor and the small orchestra started playing.

_“Leave you? Leave you? How could I leave you? How could I go it alone?”_

Kurt saw Rachel relax and Blaine narrow his eyes. Kurt locked eyes with him and raised his arm defiantly as he sang on.

 _“Could I wave the years away? With a quick goodbye?  
_ _How do you wipe tears away when your eyes are dry?”_

A satisfying feeling came over him as he moved along, walking through the room singing.

 _“How could I survive? Could I leave you a_ _nd your shelves of “the world’s best books”,”_  Kurt rolled his eyes and smirked.   
_  
“And the evenings of martyred looks, cryptic sighs, sullen glares from those injured eyes?”_

He could tell people were starting to look back and forth between him and Blaine, but he didn’t care. He had sat through enough solos in school, thinly veiled accusations in song directed at him, musical pillories over imagined slights. Now it was his turn- and he had always felt Sondheim was the way to go to express what he felt inside. Of course he had also chosen the song to show off his lower register as well as his acting talent, but with lyrics so close to his heart, that last bit was easy.

_“Leave the pats on the head, pecks on the cheek, dutiful lovemaking once a week?”_

Blaine was frowning heavily now, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Kurt continued mercilessly, building up volume and tension in his song. The piano increased pace.

_“Leave the lies, ill-concealed, and the wounds never healed and the games not worth winning and wait-”_

Kurt held up his hand and the conductor picked up on it, pausing the music.

 _“I’m just beginning…”_ He said, and scoffed.

Then he continued, falling back into the melody and adding a small walz step to travel through the room.

 _“What, leave you, leave you? How could I leave you?_  
_What would I do on my own? Putting thoughts of you aside_  
_in the south of France,_  
_Would I think of suicide?”_

To answer his own question, Kurt shrugged, extended his hand to a good-looking male student from his stage combat class and added: _“Darling, shall we dance?”_

The audience laughed and he moved on.

_“Could I live through the pain  
On a terrace in Spain? Would it pass?”_

Kurt smirked and nodded theatrically.

 _“It would pass.”_ Another volley of laughter.

 _“Could I bury my rage with a boy my own age_  
_In the grass? Bet your ass.”_  
  
Kurt playfully smacked his own behind as he moved on, fully confident that he had the audience on his side. Blaine had sunk low in his seat, partly hiding his face with his hand.

 _“Could I leave you? No, the point is, could you leave me?_  
_Well, I guess you could leave me the house, leave me the flat -  
_ _Leave me the Braques and Chagalls and all that…”_

The song was winding to its end, and Kurt enjoyed the last repeat of the refrain. The lyrics felt like he was taking back control over his life and his heart. He had originally intended to sing a different song, but after his break-up, he felt he needed to make a musical statement. And how better to mark another turning point in his life than with Sondheim?

 _“Oh, leave you? Leave you? How could I leave you?_  
_Sweetheart, I have to confess, could I leave you? Yes!_  
_Will I leave you? Will I leave you?”_

He paused dramatically, spread his arms, and answered: _“YES!”_

Several students got up from their seats and applauded. With a flushed face, Kurt noticed that the man he had flirted with during his song was one of them, and he was wolf-whistling loudly until Madame Tibideaux rose and caused everyone to grow silent at once like she had pressed a mute button.

“Thank you, Mr Hummel, for that lively and _personal_ choice in song,” she announced crisply.

A spark of worry ignited inside of Kurt. What did that mean? Was it too personal? Too indiscreet? But she said nothing more about it, and called up the next student. Kurt’s heart became a little lighter when he saw his vocal performance teacher raise two thumbs at him from Madame Tibideaux’s side. Maybe she really meant to thank him, after all. He wished he wasn’t so suspicious of every word she said- but then, he had precedence… she had complimented him on his audition, and then rejected him.

Kurt didn’t pay much attention to the next few performances, as he was still going over his own in his head. Had it been too camp, or just enough to be funny to his heteronormative audience? Had he made enough eye contact? It wasn’t until intermission, when a napkin with a telephone number was tucked boldly into his breast pocket by a young man in passing, that Kurt snapped out of it. He looked down at the digits and wondered if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for to get over his sexual frustration so he could stop lusting after his best friend like some perv. He saved the number into his phone contacts for later.

Then Rachel’s turn was up. She was wearing a bedazzled pink dress and petticoat that her dads had bought her when they visited a few weeks earlier. She had seated herself on top of the piano, which had garnered a few frowns in the orchestra- from his table, Kurt could see the pianist roll his eyes at the pretty first violinist, and her acknowledging it with a brief nod. All of the musicians were students themselves and would be graded for their performance. They didn’t take kindly to being used as a prop. That was something Rachel had never understood.

As she started singing, Kurt understood why she had glared at him earlier. Rachel was also singing a song from _Follies_. Her song however, _Broadway Babies_ , had a very different tone, so there was no danger of her sounding repetitive. 

Kurt was startled as, after two lines, Blaine suddenly rose from his seat and started singing along. He got up with waving jazz hands and danced around Madame Tibideaux’s table before joining Rachel. 

The Dean didn’t look very charmed. In fact, she was staring at the two of them woodenly, and Kurt felt like if this was a casting show, she would have hit the red button right about now.

Both Rachel and Blaine were mugging wildly- Blaine looking perpetually surprised and Rachel sort of aggressive. 

 _“What is he doing?”_ Kurt whispered to himself softly as Blaine made his way through the audience with something that was probably supposed to be a Groucho Marx walk but made him look like a waddling duck instead. It got him a few laughs- but not of the positive kind. They danced their way around the Round Room and ended up right in front of Madame Tibideaux, sing-shouting their lines at her and making their faces. Madame Tibideaux was sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest, her face a calculated blank.

Rachel and Blaine clearly had agreed on some kind of choreography, but they both seemed too eager to show off their own skills to really work as a couple. It was like their Glee club duets, only worse. Kurt didn’t understand what they were trying to achieve. He had expected Rachel to go with a ballad like she had for last year’s Winter Showcase. That was clearly what Madame Tibideaux liked to see from her. Trying out new things was fine, of course- but why risk it at something as important as a midterm?

The song ended with Rachel back on top of the piano and Blaine posing next to her. A polite applause followed. Then, Madame Tibideaux spoke up.

“Miss Berry. Mister Anderson. I don’t recall this assignment being a duet. Apparently you both feel that you are above this class, and all that governs it.”

Rachel’s beaming show smile faded fast and she started stuttering an explanation. “No, Madame Tibideaux, not at all-”

“I am flunking you both,” the Dean cut her off. “Next!”

Then, she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe she was doing this, and added: “Wait - I am going to give you the opportunity to give me what I asked for originally. An individual performance, like every other student has given me today. Reschedule this week.”

Though Rachel and Blaine had been nodding demurely like chastised children, that last remark made Rachel jump off the piano and rush to the Dean.

“I’m sorry Madame Tibideaux, it’s just - I’m in the middle of tech rehearsals for my show right now…” she started to ramble.

“Ms Berry, I’ve said everything I have to say to you,” Madame Tibideaux cut her off again. “Either you do it this week or you fail. Next!”

Kurt had followed the exchange with his mouth hanging open. What was wrong with her? Once again, she was given a second chance- a chance others would kill for- and still she wanted more? Kurt let out a deep sigh and resigned himself to yet another evening he’d be spending giving Rachel pep talks, advice and hot chocolate. He just hoped it wouldn’t be tonight. He hadn’t seen his band in weeks, and he had really been hoping to play off some post-midterm stress with a good rehearsal before he got back to work and started cramming for his theoretical exams. He took out his phone and texted Elliott and Dani, asking if they could meet at one of their places instead, all the while feeling like a bad friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song suggestion by glorfindel-m, found on her blog glorfindel-chriscolfer-singing (tumblr)


	11. Chapter 11

**ELLIOTT**

 

When Elliott got Kurt’s text, he immediately volunteered his flat, despite the chaos there (and in his mind). Even though he had only seen Kurt the evening before, he was already longing to see him again - something he would have found normal if it hadn’t been for Dani and Santana’s suggestions that there might be something more to that.

He wished they had never mentioned it. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of actually becoming more than a friend to Kurt, and it was making him police and analyze every single interaction he had with him. Elliott wasn’t sure if they’d had some sort of 'moment' in the changing booth, but he knew he had suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious where he normally wouldn't have. It had also made him wish he still had the funds for yoga class. Maybe, after he had sold some of his storage stuff. Until then, there were plenty of exercises he could do in his living room without going to a studio. Or maybe he should finally check out the NYU gym. He was already paying for it with his university fees anyway. Elliott used to feel quite satisfied with his body, but after seeing those pictures of the Spanish teacher...

Kurt arrived just after he had cleared away the dishes.

“Something smells good in here,” Kurt said, inhaling deeply as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“It’s just curry,” Elliott said dismissively, but he felt pleased. Rachel always complained about the smell in his flat. “I have some left-over if you’re hungry? Dani just texted that she’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

“God, yes. Feed me. I feel like I’ve been camped out in that Round Room for days,” Kurt replied gratefully.

Elliott smiled and grabbed a bowl from his cupboard. As he started filling it with rice and spicy coconut sauce, he looked over his shoulder at Kurt. “So, how did it go?”

“Good, I think,” Kurt replied, walking through to the living room. “Blaine didn’t like it, obviously, but I think Madame-- hey, what happened in here?”

Elliott looked up from the bag of cashews he was sprinkling over Kurt’s bowl, and saw he was looking at the boxes and the mess in the corner.

“Oh. Well, I told you I was closing my storage box, didn’t I? This is the stuff I still need to sell.”

“Wow.” Kurt walked up to a crate of books. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” Elliott said. He finished Kurt’s bowl with some parsley and walked over to join him in the living room. “Most of it’s my dad’s,” he commented. “At the time, I think I just kept everything because he spent so long collecting it all, you know? It seemed wrong to throw it away. But I can’t keep it all here. Maybe I can find someone to give them a new home.”

Kurt was looking at him with his head tilted sideways and a pensive look in his eyes. “Were you close?”

Elliott smiled. “He was my number one fan. He came to every single performance I ever did, well, you know, until he couldn’t anymore. And he always encouraged me to learn new things, whether it was piano, or singing, or guitar- That reminds me…” He handed Kurt the bowl of food and reached behind a stack of boxes. He took out a sturdy canvas guitar case.

“This is for you,” he announced.

Kurt stared at him with a spoon halfway to his mouth.

“It’s my practise guitar. It’s old, but in good shape. I put new strings on it. You said you wanted to learn, right? And we never got round to buying you a new one. I figured you could start on this, and see if you like it, and then you can always buy your own once you know what you need.”

“Are you serious?” Kurt asked.

Elliott shrugged. “Yeah. It was just sitting in storage, I mean, I got my 12-string and the Fender… I’d much rather give it to you than to some snotty kid on ebay who’ll get tired of it two weeks after christmas.”

“Can I open it?” Kurt asked, putting his bowl down and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Of course.” Elliott handed him the case and they sat down next to each other on the couch.

“Ah, I used to have a sticker on it, right there,” Elliott remarked as Kurt lifted the guitar from the bag, and he pointed at the lower bout. “It didn’t come off cleanly, but I was afraid solvents would damage the finish. It doesn’t stick.” He ran his fingers over it and shrugged awkwardly. Giving Kurt his old guitar had seemed like a good idea at first, but somehow, as Kurt held it, Elliott suddenly felt it looked old and dingy. “It’s cool if you don’t want it,” he added.

“Are you crazy? I love it!” Kurt exclaimed. “It has character.” He pulled it into his lap and placed his fingers on the strings. Biting his lip, he strummed it carefully. Not much sound came out.

Elliott chuckled. “You need to press harder here-” he pressed down Kurt’s fingers on the neck of his guitar. And then-” He strummed the strings with his own hand so sound reverberated through the room.

Kurt scrunched up his nose and slipped his hand from under Elliott’s to look at the small indentations on his fingers. “I forgot how much that hurt.”

“Only at first,” Elliott said.

Kurt put his fingers back and tried again, changing his hand to go through the few grips and positions he knew. Elliott watched him quietly for a moment, then rose to pick up his own guitar. Already, he felt less awkward. Having a guitar in his lap always calmed him down and brought him back to earth.

“Your food - is gonna get - coooold,” he sang, playing a riff.

Kurt grinned, and carefully put his guitar down to pick up the bowl again. “Play me some dinner music,” he commanded. “And slowly, so I can watch how you do it.”

Elliott deliberated for a moment, and finally chose a slow instrumental folk song. As he fingerpicked his way through it, he was very aware of Kurt’s eyes on him. But behind his guitar and the music, Elliott felt okay. This was his forte, after all. The more he played, the more relaxed he became, until it felt less like an audition for a rockstar boyfriend and more like a regular jam session with a friend. By the time Dani arrived, Kurt had finished his food and had picked up his guitar as well, tentatively trying to follow Elliott’s fingers on the chords. He was a quick study and an excellent mimic, and they managed to play a few slow-paced songs together, with Dani joining them on Elliott’s keyboard.

“This was exactly what I needed today,” Kurt said happily, putting the guitar down after it had gotten too late to continue. Elliott had very strict neighbours. Kurt carefully put the guitar back in the bag. “Are you really sure about this?” he asked Elliott once more. “I could also leave it here and just practise at your place.”

Elliott shook his head. “Nah, just take it.”

Dani gave him a scheming look.  
  
“Uh,” Elliott added quickly, “I mean, you’re more than welcome here any time-”  
  
Dani nodded encouragingly.  
  
“-but the whole idea was to unclutter this place, so…”  
  
Dani rolled her eyes.  
  
“Thanks again,” Kurt said, seemingly oblivious to the looks exchanged between his band. “I’ll take good care of it.” He hitched the bag onto his shoulder and hugged them both goodnight.  
  
As soon as he was out of the door, Elliott turned to Dani.  
  
“Can you just… _not_ do that?” he asked.  
  
“What? I’m only trying to help.” Dani shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, well, don’t,” Elliott snapped. “Either it will happen naturally or it won’t. I don’t need you girls judging my every move every time I hang out with him.”  
  
He immediately felt sorry for his tone and sighed. “I’m sorry. I just… want it to be right, you know? I want him to want me for _me_ \- not because he’s lonely or because he feels he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.”  
  
Dani frowned. “That, right there,” she gestured at the couch she had been sitting on, “was me reminding _you_ that he has a choice. A myriad of choices, like, more than half of NYADA probably.”  
  
Elliott shook his head. “I know that, but _he_ doesn’t. His ex spent years conditioning him to the thought that he was the only one who’d ever be interested in him. It takes more than a few weeks to come down from that. I don’t want him to choose me because he’s afraid Blaine was right. He has been pressured into relationships enough as it is.”  
  
“So… you’re saying you want him to realize the world’s his oyster before you ask him out?” Dani asked.  
  
“Sort of, I guess,” Elliott said hesitatingly. “But I also don’t want him to get hurt on the rebound.” He sighed. “It’d be so much easier if he wasn’t my best friend.”  
  
Dani gave him a sympathetic look. “You’ll figure it out. I’ll stop pestering you about it, then. I’ll tell Santana to cut it out, too, but I can’t make any promises.”  
  
“Oh, I know. But it’ll help to have you on my side.”  
  
Dani gave him the thumbs up and held up her empty curry bowl for a refill.


	12. Chapter 12

**KURT**

By the time Kurt got home, Rachel was already asleep. In lieu of a ‘best gay’, she had clearly comforted herself; the remnants of a bagel and waffle extravaganza were littered over the couch and the coffee table. He could hear her snoring behind the privacy curtain.

Kurt put the canvas bag with his guitar down and cleared away the mess. Then, he ironed his diner uniform and hung it out for his early shift in the morning and packed a small weekender bag with a change of clothes for his subsequent work at Vogue. Though he still had a lot of cramming to do for his other midterms, he had planned to put in as many hours at his two jobs as he could now that he didn’t have any classes; Isabelle needed a lot of help with the upcoming holiday specials, and he could use the money from the diner for Christmas presents and a trip to Ohio. He’d use his lunch break and the evening to prepare his musical theory exam. With his day thus planned out to the smallest detail, he changed into his pajamas and got ready for bed.

*

Rachel was still sleeping as Kurt left the loft the next morning, and he left her a thermos with hot herbal tea and a bottle of Pepto just in case.

A few hours later, Kurt took an intermission and slipped into an empty booth to take a quick mock-exam on the NYADA website for students. A pop-up informed him that he had several new messages in his NYADA mailbox. His curiosity piqued, he decided to check them, and almost wished he hadn’t.

_OMG did you hear? Rachel Berry quit NYADA!_

_What happened with Rachel?!?_

_BERRY & TIBIDEAUX EPIC FIGHT_

Kurt shook his head and called up his address book. Just as he did, a text from Rachel arrived, asking him if he could meet her for lunch at Belmondo’s. He sighed. So much for his plans. Once again, Rachel - and her future career- needed him. He spent the rest of his shift mentally preparing his arguments for the upcoming pep talk and damage control strategies.

When Rachel arrived at Belmondo’s however, she wasn’t as distraught as Kurt expected her to be. Instead, she seemed excited and energetic.

“Hiiii, sorry that I’m late,” she said cheerfully as she breezed in and put her coat down on the chair opposite of Kurt.

“I know what you did. You’re crazy,” Kurt said, irritatedly. How could she be so casual about this?

Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my god, are you serious? You really already heard about that?” She sat down at their table with a deep sigh, like she was disappointed she didn’t get to tell Kurt first.

“Seriously?” Kurt snapped. “The gossip chain in NYADA is the most efficient part of the school. I already had several messages waiting for me at 11 am.”

“Ok, look,” Rachel started, and grabbed Kurt’s bottle of Pellegrino, helping herself to a glass.  “Don’t judge me. It’s not my fault. Carmen was completely unreasonable. All I did was ask her if I could defer my midterm-”

“Your resit midterm,” Kurt corrected.

“Until after Fanny’s tech rehearsals. And instead of helping me out, she gave me this whole speech, asking me if I wanted to be part of NYADA’s community or not, and if I cared about the work or just the spotlight-”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. So far, Madame Tibideaux didn’t seem that unreasonable to him.

“And then she had the nerve to call me a ‘little girl’ and said I lack a foundation, that I’m not ready. Does she have any idea? I have been working my entire life, Kurt. My foundation is literally my childhood. I was born ready. I was born to be Fanny.”

Kurt sighed. “Did you tell her that?” he asked dully. He was beginning to fear that the situation was beyond damage control.

“Yes. And then I quit. It was the right thing to do.”

Kurt shook his head. “How can you say that? Two years ago you would have done anything humanly possible to force your way into that school and now you’re just gonna quit?”

Rachel gaped at him like she couldn’t believe her ears. “Oh my god, that was before Fanny, ok? Everything changed from that moment on.” She grinned and sipped her water.

Kurt briefly closed his eyes and cursed the moment he had signed her up for her audition. Why did he always have to meddle? He took a deep breath, and tried to bring her down to earth. “I understand that, but an education from NYADA will give you options in the future. Broadway is a fickle business. What if this is the last role you’ll ever get?”

“ _Last role?!_ ” Rachel repeated, shocked. “Really? Wow, you are worse than Carmen! Is that really what you think of me?”

Kurt’s shoulders slumped. When Rachel was in a mood like this, it was hard to reason with her. She had clearly made up her mind. She hadn’t invited him for lunch in search of advice, but to find an ally.

“I’m just saying you need to be smart about this,” he offered.

“Kurt, I’m just not interested in spending huge sums of money on a school whose classes I can barely even attend,” Rachel said, gesticulating dramatically, and all Kurt could think of was her personalized pink credit card and the check from her fathers that came in every month to pay her share of the rent.

“And a Dean who doesn’t like me or support me-” she continued.

“That’s not what it is, she’s just-” he tried to interject. It wasn’t Madame Tibideaux’s job to _like_ her students. It was her job to pick talent and guide her students to their best possible future career, and that included preparing them for a tough entertainment job that didn’t provide special treatment.

“You know, I am _so_ hurt right now that you are standing in the corner with a failure like Carmen Tibideaux and not your best friend!” Rachel snapped.

A failure? The Dean of Vocal Performance and Song Interpretation at NYADA, the profound Broadway and opera star, who taught master classes all over the world? If she was a failure, what did that make them?

“I’m not on Carmen’s side. I’m on your side,” Kurt replied tersely. “I’m just saying, what if-”

“We can play the ‘what if’ game all day long, Kurt, but the point is: I have the opportunity of a lifetime staring me in the face right now and I can’t let anything- whether that’s school or Carmen or the diner or, you know, even my friends- stop me from accomplishing my dreams!”

“I’m not trying to-” Kurt started, then shook his head. He had seen her like this before, when she accused Santana of taking the understudy part to sabotage her. No matter what anyone said, she believed it and acted accordingly. But he had to give it one more shot for the sake of their friendship.

“For the last time, Rachel, I am begging you: please don’t do this.”

Rachel shook her head and pointed at him. “You’re afraid. You’re afraid to venture out.” She got up and grabbed her coat angrily. “You _need_ a place like NYADA, where it’s just one big safe group where no one takes any risks. That way, you guys can just huddle together and avoid the facts of actually having to _grow up_ and be an adult.” She shook out her collar aggressively and picked up her bag.

Kurt was at a complete loss for words. After everything they had been through - after everything he had helped her through; this was what she threw at him? It hadn’t been much more than a year since she called him from New York in tears, telling him how she hated NYADA because Ms July was so mean to her, and how terrible her dorm was. NYADA a safe place? Then why did she advise him to stay away from Adam’s Apples? Why did she feel like her life was over when her peers voted against her in Midnight Madness? If there was anyone who avoided the facts of being an adult, it was the girl who constantly needed her friends, teachers and daddies to pick her up when things didn’t go her way.

There was only one thing Kurt could think of to say.

“Screw you, Rachel.”

Rachel rolled her eyes at him, and left, shaking her head and leaving Kurt with the tab on their table. Having lost his appetite, Kurt simply paid for the bottle of water and left, figuring he might as well get to the Vogue office early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this scene, Kurt gets bashed (in canon). The prompter of this fic specifically told me to leave that out, so you can rest easy- Kurt will arrive at Vogue safely :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tags "Non-Graphic Past Substance Abuse / Non-Graphic Past (Self)Harm / Non-Graphic Past Unsafe Behaviour" were added specifically for this chapter.

**ELLIOTT**

Elliott’s phone rang, and he knew by the ringtone that it was Kurt. It was already quite late, but he picked up right away.

“Hey,” he started, but Kurt cut him off.

“I want to get a tattoo.”

“Um… okay,” Elliott replied, frowning. “Is everything alright? Have you been drinking?”

“Yes, and no-” Kurt sounded half-exasperated, half-excited. “I’m sober and I’m fine. I really want to do this now, and you’re the only one I know who’d actually support me and would not try to talk me out of it. Please come with me. I need you.”

Elliott didn’t need to be told twice. He agreed to meet Kurt at the subway.

“Okay, so what’s this all about?” Elliott asked after Kurt had kissed the air next to his cheek in greeting.

“It’s Rachel. No, actually, I’m not doing this because of her, but…” Kurt shook his head and made another try to explain as they got into a subway cart. “Rachel quit NYADA this morning.”

“What?!”

“I know, crazy right? So she summons me to Belmondo’s for lunch, and I really don’t have the time but I go anyway, figuring she needs help setting things straight with the Dean. Only when I get there, she tells me it was the right thing to do and wants me to endorse it. Obviously I didn’t-”

“Yah,” Elliott agreed, shaking his head a little. Who quit a school that only took on 20 new students each year?

“So she got angry with me and said that staying at NYADA means I am hiding in my safe place and I need to grow up.”

“Huh?”

Kurt shrugged. “I know it’s nonsense. But it got me thinking. What if I _am_ playing it safe? Not with NYADA, but with my whole life, you know? My path has been different and exciting considering my background, but considering who I think I am and how I see myself, it’s like I’ve taken the streetcar named predictability. Glee club, musical theatre school, respectable jobs on the side, highschool sweetheart… I mean, this is New York! Shouldn’t I be out there, partying, living it up, rebelling, doing the whole ‘live while we’re young’ thing?”

Elliott smirked. “And you think getting a tattoo is all of that?”

“Well, it’s a start,” Kurt said, blushing a little. “You can’t expect me to throw my whole Ohio upbringing out of the door in one night.”

Elliott nudged Kurt’s his shoulder with his own. “Don’t. I like you that way.”

“ _Just a small-town boy…_ ” Kurt sang quietly, his smile suddenly a little dimmed. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

Elliott quickly shook his head. “Nah. There are a lot of reasons people get tattoos. To celebrate a special occasion, to make a statement, or just because they like the way it looks. All of those reasons are valid. If you want this, and feel that it’s a step in the right direction, let’s go do it.”

Kurt’s smile returned. “Thanks. Here. This is our stop. I figured we’d go to the place that kicked me out last time. I kind of feel like I owe them my custom.”

“Are you serious?” Elliott let out as they resurfaced from New York’s public transport. “ _This_ is where you went last time?” He looked at the shop. “I love this place. I got the upper part of my sleeve done here!”

Kurt let out a giddy squeal next to him. “Perfect!”

They entered the shop. There was a new girl at the counter, but the place looked the same as ever. “Hey,” Elliott said. “Is Luis in the back?”

“Yeah,” the girl nodded, only briefly taking her eyes off a design she was drawing inside a notebook. “LUIS!”

A middle-aged man in a greyed sleeveless shirt and a plaid vest stepped through the chain curtain, metal links clicking. “What the hell are you shouting for– _Elliott_?” His entire demeanor changed, from vaguely hostile to welcoming. “Long time no see, man. Are you here for another one?” He offered Elliott a hand to clasp.

Elliott took it and they pressed their forearms together for a moment in a familiar handshake. “Hey man. No, I’m here with my friend Kurt. Moral support.”

Luis let go of his hand and took a frowning look at Kurt. “Are you on tv or something? I feel like I‘ve seen you before.”

“He’s the leader of my band,” Elliott said proudly. Kurt gave him a nervous wave.

“I’m the one- uh… you kicked me out a few months ago. I was drunk and I wanted to get a tattoo- I mean, I _thought_ I wanted it, but-” Kurt broke off when Luis glared at him.

“Please save me the lifetime story. You haven’t come to sue me or anything, have you?” Luis asked gruffly.

“Oh no,” Kurt immediately reassured him. “I want to get a tattoo. Please.”

Elliott thought Kurt’s nervosity was completely endearing. Luis looked intimidating, but he wasn’t half as scary as he’d like people to think. Elliott knew they’d warm up to each other soon enough.

“I have someone to finish up,” Luis said, nodding at the room in the back. “Why don’t you write down or sketch whatever it is you want and I’ll take a look when I’m done.”

Kurt nodded and sat down with Elliott. He nervously started drumming his heels to the floor, until Elliott put a hand on his knee. “You know I won’t laugh if you changed your mind, right?” Elliott offered. “We can go anytime you want.”

Kurt smiled. “I haven’t changed my mind.” He looked around. “You know, last time, I found this place super scary. But it’s actually kind of nice. Atmospheric. Oh look, bamboo!” He pointed at a niche next to the counter.

Elliott squeezed Kurt’s knee. He could tell his friend was trying really hard not to bolt out of the place again. “Luis is a good guy,” he said. “I was here for a couple of sessions so we kind of got to know each other. He’s all about positive experiences. He has this whole philosophy about turning mistakes into opportunities.”

Kurt was listening curiously, and had stopped drumming his heels.

“He opens up his studio once a month to victims of domestic violence and offers to tattoo over scars and bad memories, for free. You should check out the pictures on his website, they look amazing.”

“Really?” Kurt took his eyes from the décor and looked at Elliott. “He can do that?”

Elliott frowned. “Why? Do you—?” For a moment, a flashback of Blaine yelling at him in his apartment appeared in front of his eyes.

Kurt shook his head. “No, no. I just didn’t know that was possible. I figured a scar is a scar.”

“Well, it is. They’re not gonna go away. But Luis turns them into something else. Into a piece of art. That way, you don’t always have to see them and remember.”

By now, Kurt was looking at him intently, and Elliott knew he owed Kurt a story. He only hesitated for a split second. Then, he shrugged off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeve.

“Okay,” he said, “give me your hand.”

Kurt held out his hand and Elliott took it, guiding his fingers towards his bicep. “There. Can you feel that? The edges?”

Kurt frowned and leaned closer, peering at the tattoo. He traced it with his fingers. “I feel _something_ , but…”

“They’re initials,” Elliott said. “Not mine.”

Kurt pulled his hand away and brought the fingers to his lips. “How…?”

“A razorblade. I don’t remember much of it. We were both incredibly high, and not for the first time.” Elliott grimaced. “By the time I sobered up, it was already infected. It looked really gross. I got scared and went to the hospital. They asked me if the same razor had been used on anyone else. I had no idea. Then I realized I had no idea about anything I did that night, or the nights before that. That was some wake-up call.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt whispered.

Elliott reached into his pocket and took out a small bronze coin. He showed it to Kurt. “I used the weeks I had to wait to get tested to go to meetings. I got clean. My test came back negative.”

Kurt, who had closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again. His pupils were huge. “And the…person whose initials you got?” He nodded at Elliott’s arm.

“I haven’t seen him since.” Elliott put the coin away and looked at his shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life walking around with a stranger’s name on my arm, you know? So I came here. And it turned out even better than I hoped.”

Kurt let out a deep breath. “Yeah. You can’t see it at all. That’s amazing.” Then, he bit his lip and looked down at his boots, scuffing his toes over the floor.

Elliott wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he appalled with his story? Disappointed? “I should have told you sooner,” he offered. “It just never seemed like the right moment, you know?” He quickly added: “And I don’t do that stuff anymore. You’ve seen me at the club, I’m completely-” he gestured empathically, “completely boring.” He laughed self-consciously.

“No, no that’s not it!” Kurt said quickly. “I was just thinking- Rachel was right after all. _I’m_ the boring one. With the safe life. I just feel so childish.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows. “You are the least childish person I know,” he said earnestly. “Me, messing around with my health like that? _That_ was childish.” He paused. “And just because you don’t have any marks on your skin to cover up doesn’t mean you don’t have any scars.”

Kurt pressed his lips into a thin smile. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something more, but then Luis came walking up to them, and he quickly rose and took a piece of paper from his pocket. Elliott tried to take a look as the sheet changed hands, but it was just out of reach.

Luis took it and nodded to himself.

“It’s a part of the sheet music for-” Kurt started, but Luis cut him off.

“I don’t care. Have you checked it for mistakes this time?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, a little subdued.

“Where do you want it?”

“Um. On my shoulder blade. Here.” Kurt pointed at his right shoulder.

“Size ok?” Luis held up the sheet.

Kurt nodded.

“Alright. I’m going to make a stencil. Go through to the back. Elliott will show you.”

Elliott gave Kurt an encouraging smile. “The sheet music for what?” he asked as soon as Luis was out of earshot. “I care.”

Kurt smiled. “Defying Gravity,” he said. “ _And you won’t bring me down._ ”

*

Okay. So maybe Elliott was sending unsubtle messages after all. Luis was not a big talker, and he didn’t care about hearing stories either- but he got to _see_ a lot of people, and he had a keen eye. The knowing look he shot Elliott over Kurt’s naked shoulder made Elliott feel quite caught in the act.

He had been watching his friend’s concentrated face; eyes tightly shut, mouth hanging open a little as he breathed through the sting of the needle. Kurt was sitting astride an ergonomical tattoo chair, leaning his bare chest against the leather padding. It would have taken a much, much stronger mind than Elliott’s to stay unaffected by the sight, and he prided himself on being quite _zen_. But definitely not _zen_ enough not to wonder if this was anything like Kurt’s orgasm face, or what he’d look like straddling his lap instead of that chair.

Elliott quickly looked away as he met Luis’ eyes. He knew the tattoo artist didn’t care, but he felt guilty anyway. After his talk with Dani, Elliott had decided he’d wait until Kurt made a move - and that meant he really needed to stop wearing his heart (and his hard-on) on his sleeve.


	14. Chapter 14

**KURT**

In retrospect, getting a tattoo in the same week as several demanding physical midterms wasn’t the best idea Kurt had ever had. Though the surface wasn’t too irritated (yet), he was required to wear tightly fitting clothes to better show his movements, and they stuck to his skin with a mixture of sweat and seepage. A stickler as he was for clean skin routines, the feeling made Kurt very uncomfortable. When he opted to go shirtless for stage combat he was told to cover up because he was ‘distracting the other students’. That earned him quite a few envious glances from the other guys and a glare from Blaine, who showed up to all of his midterms in the same baggy shirt over a longsleeved henley, which he only took off when specifically instructed to do so. Kurt remembered a time when that henley fit a lot better, but it was not his business anymore to keep Blaine away from New York’s wide range of fried confectionaries.

The doors to the dance room opened and Kurt and the other students of his class entered, spreading out to find a space by one of the walls or the bench by the window to deposit shoes and gym bags. Kurt put his things down and started to get changed, carefully lifting his shirt off of his shoulder. He was so concentrated on ignoring the itch this caused on his skin (which, Luis had instructed, he should not scratch under any circumstance), he didn’t notice that the noise level had dropped until he turned around and stood face to face with Carmen Tibideaux.

She was looking inscrutable as ever, and Kurt, in a flash of panic, imagined she had come to tell him to leave NYADA for good. Then, he noticed the golden envelope she was holding. It had a purple wax seal stamped with her initials, and his name, in a curly calligraphy script.

An invitation to the Winter Showcase.

As she handed it to him, Madame Tibideaux smiled ever so slightly. Then she turned and left without a word. Kurt watched her go, robes swaying, and then realized everyone was looking at him, including Cassandra July. She was leaning on her dance cane, and had her head slightly cocked, lips pursed.

“Well, well,” she said loudly. “Don’t let it get to your head. In this room, your voice means nothing. Strong legs, power arms, crisp spotting, perfect jumps- that’s what it takes to impress _me_.” Then, she smiled. “Congratulations, though,” she added in a normal voice. “You can go first.” She gave a short jerk with her head towards his shoulder and turned away, tapping her cane on the floor. “What is everyone waiting for? Get dressed, this is your midterm! Stop wasting my time!”

Giddy and grateful, Kurt slipped into his leotard and put out a soft t shirt to change into as soon as his midterm was over- which would only be minutes from now.

*

Unlike during his vocal performance critique, the Dean of Dance and Choreography wasn’t actually present. All performances were recorded, and ‘problem cases’ discussed with him afterwards. The Dean, after all, had better things to do- or so Ms July insinuated, but she did so with a tone of disapproval. As much as she tried to hide it, Kurt knew her students actually mattered to her, and it was one of NYADA’s worst kept secrets that she couldn’t stand the Dean; a former ballet choreographer of some respute, but not a dancer himself. Ms July often made snide remarks about him when she thought no one was paying attention- clearly she felt passed over for the job herself.

Kurt danced by himself to live piano music, a solo piece from a contemporary show (he had taken care to avoid anything the Dean had once choreographed), and he came out of it feeling rather good about it. Rather than choose something high-brow and difficult, which he knew he could only do with mediocrity, he had chosen something slightly simpler that he could polish to perfection. _Playing it safe_ , a small voice in his mind pestered him, but he ignored it and focused on Cassandra July’s face instead. She had a small, satisfied smile on her lips, and (if he wasn’t imagining it) a slightly appreciative look in her eyes. She nodded.

“Video and feedback on Monday. Next!”

He had passed. He knew she would have said so if he hadn’t. He was sure she’d have several pointers for him to work on when they watched the video- this wasn’t the first time Ms July had recorded them so she could slow down their moves and analyze them- but that was the whole point of these tests. To find out your weaknesses so you could improve.

Kurt grabbed his bag and his change of clothes and hurried to the adjacent showers. They could only be accessed from the dance room to deter possible misuse, so Kurt could hear the piano as he undressed in his cabin. Humming along to a familiar piece, he quickly showered, taking care with his tattoo. As the water ran over it, the itch was momentarily soothed, and he sighed in relief. Another midterm down. Not many to go now.

When Kurt tiptoed back into the room ten minutes later, Blaine had just started. Kurt recognised the piece immediately, and winced. Blaine probably thought it was cute, it being so close to the holidays, but the routine they had tried to learn together for _Let it Snow_ in Artie’s Glee Holiday Spectacular hadn’t even been much of a hit on the local PBS station- and it was certainly not good enough for New York.

Kurt watched as Ms July’s facial expression first darkened into a grim frown and then slowly grew into a disturbingly pleased smile. He knew it was time to leave. As much as he had secretly enjoyed the small (and well-deserved) jabs at Blaine’s dancing skills in class, he wasn’t sure he really needed to watch the epic flunking that was about to go down. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who got off on others’ misfortune. He was sure Ms July would see it differently, and give him a speech about how another performer’s failure meant a bigger chance for himself and he should learn to enjoy it, but there was enough Ohio left in him to disagree. Deep inside, a small soft spot also made him leave to save Blaine the extra humiliation of his presence when Ms July threw him out of her class. At the same time, he was very grateful they weren’t together anymore, so he wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces for this mess (and most likely be blamed somehow, too).

He snuck out the door with his shoes in hand. Outside, as he knelt on the checkered black-and-white tiles to tie his shoes, the golden envelope fell out of his bag. He had almost forgotten about it. His previous giddiness returned, and he quickly rose, put it back into his bag, and took out his phone.

_“Elliott? You won’t believe what happened just now…”_


	15. Chapter 15

**ELLIOTT**

“Hiii! Congratulations, Mister _Copywriter_!” Kurt let out in a high-pitched greeting as he stepped through Elliott’s door, cradling a small bowl of flower shoots in his arm.

Elliott beamed a smile at him and stepped into Kurt’s embrace. He knew the girls were exchanging knowing looks behind his back, but that no longer bothered him. Both Dani and Santana had quit their hints to his face, and it had made a big difference already.

“Thank you, Mister _Winter-Showcase-Invité_ ,” he countered fondly.

Kurt struck a pose at the mention of his golden ticket, and then shook his head grinning. “Seriously though, your job title sounds so cool,” he said. “Very _Mad Men_. What exactly will you be doing?”

Elliott smiled. One of his job interviews had finally come through, and he had invited his small group of friends to celebrate.  
  
“I guess I’ll find out. Not drinking bourbon at 11 in the morning, I hope. All I know is that I’ll be writing online ads with limited characters like on twitter, and I figured, if I can write lyrics, I can write ads, right? I’m a performer, I know how to sell something-”

“And you’re concise,” Kurt added helpfully.

“Yeah. I can even sum this job up in two words: Rent. Money.”

Kurt chuckled. “Well, I know you’ll do great. Here.” Kurt offered him the bowl.

“Isn’t it a little early for daffodils?” Elliott asked.

Kurt shrugged. “Not if you keep them near your heating. I thought they were cute. They’ll last longer than cut flowers too.”

“I love them, thank you.” Elliott hoped he could make them bloom. He was rather hopeless with plants, which was why he didn’t keep any in his apartment. Maybe he could put in some extra effort for Kurt’s gift. Elliott knew Kurt would be disappointed if he wouldn’t see them next time he visited. He was always talking about how Blaine bought “over-bred”, expensive, “flashy” plants and then failed to keep them alive because he’d forget about them. This felt like a challenge, in a roundabout way.

Elliott put them on one of the small tables by the window next to his mounted vintage microphone. Light was good, right? Kurt greeted Dani and Santana, and Elliott went back to his kitchen to fetch the chai he had been mixing.

“Hey, how are you?” Elliott heard Dani say, “Santana just told me Rachel moved out of the loft!”

Elliott looked over his shoulder just in time to see Kurt roll his eyes and drop himself between the two ladies on the couch.

“Oh boy,” Kurt sighed. “You really missed something there…”

Elliott grinned. He knew what was coming, and the girls were in for a juicy story. He had already heard it first-hand just after it had happened, and once again because he was there when Kurt skyped with Mercedes. He put four small cups into one large hand and took the jar with chai into his other to carry it over to the coffee table. As he poured, Kurt had just settled back against his leather sofa and started his story.

“Okay, so it’s the day after Rachel walked out on me in Belmondo’s, and I hear a knock at my door. I open it, and there’s these four really good-looking guys in coveralls and gloves standing there. At first I thought someone had played a prank on me and hired male strippers-”

Kurt gave Santana a stern look, and she shook her head, rubbing thumb and index finger together to signal that joke would have exceeded her budget.

“-but as it turns out, these guys are professional movers, and Mr and Mr Berry have hired them to take Rachel’s stuff. And they have a list, but it’s very vague, and Rachel put a lot of stuff on the list that’s actually mine. So I stick around, making coffee and watching them, just to make sure they don’t take any of my stuff,”

‘ _Uh-huh_ ’, Dani teased, and Kurt admitted he also stuck around for the view,

“-when I notice one of them keeps asking me stuff, like ‘ _how about this? is this Miss Berry’s_?’ And it’s invariably heavy stuff that he’s lifting, like he’s showing me what he’s capable of-”

Elliott sipped his tea, enjoying all the voices and gestures Kurt made in the retelling.

“And I’m like, is this guy for real? Next, he starts bending over stuff, and I’m sort of torn between second-hand embarrassment and feeling-”

“Wanky,” Santana supplied.

“Hmm-mm,” Kurt confirmed, taking a sip of tea as well before delivering the punchline of his story. “Anyway, at some point, they’re done, and the others are already half out the door, and then this guy comes up to me. I expect he has some sort of indecent proposal for me…”

“Did he?” Dani asked.

“No. He wanted a tip. He said Hiram Berry always gave him an extra twenty or so when he moved stuff like that at his office.”

Santana let her jaw drop and gasped. “Oh my god! That’s super gross! Did Mr Berry tell him to hit on you?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t see why he would. Maybe the guy just decided to give it a shot when he saw me looking.”

“Did you pay him?” Dani asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Of course not!” Kurt let out.

“Did you get his number?” Santana asked.

Kurt sighed. “I don’t even think he was gay. He just wanted to make some money.”

“Don’t we all,” Elliott said, secretly pleased.

“So where did Rachel move on such short notice, anyway?” Dani asked. “Didn’t she move in with you last time, Elliott?”

“Yeah,” Elliott replied, rolling his eyes. “Remind me to grow a backbone next time.”

Kurt shook his head. “Stronger-minded men than you have been pushed over by the Berry-steamroller, honey,” he said, and Elliott wasn’t sure if he was including himself in that group. “Women too,” Kurt added. “I’m just glad Madame Tibideaux came to her senses.” He picked up a cracker from a plate Elliott had put out, and popped it into his mouth, licking the tips of his fingers afterwards. It reminded Elliott of a cat. He liked cats a lot.

“Anyway,” Kurt continued, “apparently the Funny Girl producer, Sidney Greene, agreed to put her up in a hotel room in Manhattan. Anything for _his star_.” He waved his hands in the air sarcastically.

“Ugh, I should never have resigned as her understudy,” Santana complained. “All it would have taken was one good kick down the stairs and all of those luxuries would have been mine.” Santana looked at her friends. “Oh come on. Like she doesn’t deserve that!”

Elliott noticed that no one, not even Kurt, argued with her on that.

“Why doesn’t he just rent her an apartment somewhere?” Dani wondered out loud. “I’m sure that’s cheaper…”

“A hotel room doesn’t have a tenancy agreement,” Elliott said.

“M-mm,” Kurt agreed, “the moment she sets a foot wrong, she’s homeless.” He gave Santana a pointed look. “It all sounds very nice, but I wouldn’t want to be in her position.”

Santana shrugged. “Her daddies will always take her back anyway. I hear Mr Berry has the moving company on speed dial.” She grinned.

Kurt pointed a finger at her. “Don’t tell her about that!”

“Why not? It’s too good. She’s always bragging about her dads’ marriage.”

“It’s just… none of her business,” Kurt replied, and Elliott wondered if he was thinking about Blaine. He knew Rachel’s dads had been something of an example for them as a couple. Finding out what Hiram was up to as a married man was probably a dire reminder of the fate Kurt had narrowly avoided.

“I am making no promises,” Santana said.

Elliott quickly rose to pick up the nearly empty teapot and disperse the tension. “More tea, I think,” he said, and hurried to the kitchen.

“And she really never even apologized?” Dani asked, leaning over to Kurt.

“Nope,” Kurt said. “Not a single word.” He shrugged. “I expect she will when she needs her next make-over, though.”

Santana groaned. “Don’t you dare!” she threatened.

Kurt shook his head. “I never said I’d take her back. I wouldn’t mind seeing her grovel a little, though.”

Elliott smiled. He liked the newfound confidence Kurt had found in standing up against his Ohio baggage, ex-boyfriend and old friends included. Being loyal was one thing- being a doormat another. Elliott took out a can of herbs and set to work on fresh chai, already feeling like his little celebration night was a success.


	16. Chapter 16

**KURT**

When Kurt woke up, he burrowed himself further into his pillow and tried to fall asleep again. He’d been having such a wonderful and vivid dream, and this time, Blaine had not featured in it at all. His alarm went off again. Kurt groaned and dug his arms under his pillow, meaning to press it against his ears, when his hand met with something cold. He pulled away and sat up, yanking the pillow off the mattress. It was a condom wrapper. There were two more between the mattress and the headboard. Oh. _Oh._

He looked around. The loft was empty (of people, that was- this time, his laptop, the stereo and the dvd player were still there). His partition was open- but without Rachel, there was no need for a modesty curtain any more. He was naked. Yesterday’s clothes were disposed neatly in the hamper or hung out to air. It this was a cliché in a movie, he’d be gathering up his underwear and socks from under the couch or off the television set, but Kurt had never been the kind of guy who’d litter clothes all over the place, no matter how badly he needed to take them off (and he was starting to remember the previous night’s definition of need).

His alarm went off a third time, and Kurt reached for his phone to switch it off. He found a message that said: _You are wonderful. Call me if you change your mind! xxx Tim._

Kurt sighed and let himself drop back down in his bed. Tim. He had accepted all of Kurt’s terms and conditions, and had arrived on his doorstep at 1 am, no questions asked, ready to have a good time and leave afterwards. Kurt felt a little flutter inside as he remembered the way Tim had looked at him (like he had been granted a ninety-seconds-free shopping spree in a designer outlet). It had been a boost to his self-confidence, there was no doubt about that. It had also definitely ‘scratched the itch’ (several times). But unfortunately, it hadn’t erased any of the longing he felt, or the reason why he called Tim in the first place.

Kurt, Dani, Elliott and Santana had spent the rest of the previous evening talking, occasionally serious, occasionally hilarious. Then Dani had to leave because of her early shift, and Santana had walked her to the subway. Kurt had lingered at Elliott’s place, not wanting to break the comfortable bubble of safety and warmth he was wrapped in. That was when it happened- he had almost let go of himself completely. Elliott had been saying something. Kurt couldn’t even remember what it was now. All he knew was that he’d been thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss him. It distracted him so completely that Elliott noticed, and stopped talking to ask him if he was okay.

Kurt had mumbled some kind of excuse and left. On his way home, he remembered the phone number he had saved for a night such as this, and texted it his address and his rules.

_Safety first, no second date, no sleep-over._

It had felt like something out of a bad porn (not that he had seen many, but he imagined that was what it would sound like). It had been a bit awkward at first, but Tim had been sweet and Kurt had been determined. His only concession to his modest self was to turn around the pictures of his family on his night stand. Tim had let himself out, still looking starstruck, and Kurt had fallen asleep almost instantly, reliving his exploits in his dreams with another man.

Kurt forced himself to get up, dispose of the wrappers and head to the shower. He had to be at NYADA for his video critique with Ms July, and he knew he’d better get rid of his sex hair if he wanted his nickname-free streak to continue. He ran the hot water and let it pelt down on his head for a long while as he tried to sort his thoughts. He wasn’t ashamed or sorry about what had happened. He was just sorry that it had only turned out to be a momentary distraction. As soon as Tim was gone, Elliott was back on his mind. What was he going to do about that?

*

He hadn’t found an answer yet as he knocked on the door of Ms July’s small office. When there was no reply, he carefully tried it. The door was unlocked. A laptop stood opened on the desk. He wondered for a moment why she’d leave it there like that, but sheer intimidation on the part of Ms July probably kept it safe from any students trying to steal anything. Kurt checked his watch, then took a seat on one of the chairs.

About ten minutes after their agreed meeting time, Ms July walked in wearing dark sunglasses, an oversized bag and a Starbucks cup. “You’re early,” she declared.

“Actually-” Kurt started, then realized he hadn’t been graded yet. “I am.”

Ms July shook her head a little, and put her things down. As she took off her sunglasses, Kurt could see she looked very tired. Her eyes were red-rimmed. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but it wasn’t in his nature to ignore something like that.

“Are you okay?” he asked carefully.

“I’m _super_. I _love_ feedback rounds. There’s _nothing_ I’d rather be doing,” she replied sarcastically. Her breath smelled faintly like wine.

His grade in mind, Kurt bit back on a sassy reply and just waited. It was an approach that sometimes worked with Santana.

Ms July stared back at him for a moment. Then, her shoulders sagged and she briefly closed her eyes, rubbing them. “I had to let my cat be put down last night,” she said. “Satisfied? Are you going to tell me to be more _professional_? I’m not a robot.”

Kurt felt like she was battling the memory of someone else. “I never said that,” he replied gently. “I’m very sorry. Do you want to reschedule?”

Ms July shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with. And keep this,” she gestured at herself, “under wraps, okay? I don’t need the rest of my students to know I have a soul.”

Kurt smirked. “My lips are sealed.”

Ms July nodded. Then she pulled out a folder with handwritten notes and sat down next to Kurt. She activated the laptop and scrolled through the files, which were sorted by date and last names. As she searched, Kurt tried to peek at her notes, but they were in a spiked shorthand that might as well have been hieroglyphics.

“Okay…Haley, Haverford…Hummel…here.”

She opened the file, and Kurt braced himself. He was not new to video critiques- he had been filming himself singing and dancing ever since he was ten and got a camcorder for Christmas- and he knew the only way to improve was to study and analyze himself with an outsider’s point of view. Even so, it was always a bit jarring to see the mistakes the mind glossed over in the post-performance rush.

“Last time,” Ms July said, glancing at her notes as Kurt on screen took up his position on the floor, “I told you to work on your footwork.”

Kurt nodded, focusing on his own feet on screen. The dance routine started.

“There. Improvement,” Ms July said, “you couldn’t have done that half a year ago.” She sounded pleased and it was clear she was taking credit for it.

“It’s still a bit…” Kurt trailed off and scrunched his nose, for a moment forgetting that he was watching himself.

“Chorus,” Ms July finished. “But I’m not gonna flunk you for that if you show me you’re working on it.”

Kurt bit his lip, still watching intently.

“Okay, here we go,” Ms July announced, and paused the video to put in on quarter speed. “Your spotting is fine, your arms are fine. But what, if you don’t mind explaining, is _that_?”

Kurt groaned. The slow-motion made his movements painfully clear. “What am I doing?” he mumbled at the Kurt on the laptop. Before and after each turn, he rounded his back before straightening up again, making the final figure almost comically bouncy- when observed so closely and in slow-motion anyway.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Ms July said. “Here, again, and here-” She paused and played his flaws relentlessly.

“I didn’t even know I was doing that,” Kurt admitted.

“That’s why we are doing this,” his teacher reminded him. “You’ve given me what I asked for with your footwork, so I am confident I don’t need to tell you this again either. Next time, I want you at this level-” she held up her hand in a horizontal line over Kurt’s head on the screen, “at all times. Imagine your spine is a straight metal rod from your ass to your neck. No slumping.”

“You’re not flunking me?” Kurt asked a bit incredulously.

Ms July shook her head. “I’d have to flunk nearly everyone in my class, and how would that look on my teaching? No. This is something you can fix. You just needed to see it once.”

Kurt nodded eagerly, glad for the chance he was being given. He had been sent to “remedial booty camp” for less.

Ms July let the rest of the routine play at normal speed, occasionally giving pointers. She took a lot of time for his feedback, and Kurt figured she was glad for the distraction. She complimented him on his choice of performance, but encouraged him to experiment with more difficult material during the next free block.

“With two of my students gone, we’ll have more time in class for individual improv,” Ms July said, and she smiled a little wryly. “The time I’ll save not having to pamper Anderson alone gives us an entire extra class.”

Kurt wasn’t really sure if he was expected to laugh or not, so he opted for a small appreciative nod.

Ms July watched him for a moment, looking as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.

“He was here last Friday, you know,” she said finally. “Would you believe he has tried to get my decision to flunk him overruled by the Dean? Unsuccessfully I may add. I had already shown him the video of his critique. For once, me and the old codger agree on something. That kid does _not_ belong at NYADA, no matter how much money his parents pump into this school.” Ms July crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. “So he came to me with a different tactic. He begged me for a resit, claiming he had been badly prepared because of all the upheaval in his personal life.” She raised an eyebrow and gave Kurt a questioning look.

“I don’t– what did he mean?” Kurt’s mind raced. Had someone died, his father, his grandmother? He got a chill. Was Cooper okay?

“He said you broke off your engagement, broke his heart and kicked him out on the streets,” Ms July said.

Kurt did a double-take. “What?” he asked. “That’s what he said?”

“Something like that. I tuned him out when he started blubbering,” Ms July said, and shrugged. “It was very annoying.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect him to use us as an excuse. We broke up weeks ago, and according to his facebook, his life has been ‘party party party’ with his best friend ever since he ‘cut the old ball and chain’, so…”

It actually irritated Kurt a lot that Blaine had so obviously moved on. Maybe it shouldn’t, considering he had just spent the night with someone else too, but after all that talk of ‘soul mates’, Kurt had secretly expected a bit of a longer mourning period from Blaine.

“Blaine failed his critique because he doesn’t believe in preparation,” Kurt continued. “He thinks ‘all art should be spontaneous’. He just rehashed a choreo we put together for Glee club two years ago,” he said, feeling vindictive.

“Really? That was yours? It was terrible,” Ms July said.

“It was the best we could manage on short notice,” Kurt said defensively. “I tried to get more steps in but Blaine insisted on using the furniture as props.”

Ms July rolled her eyes. “I never did understand why you were together in the first place-” she broke off and put up a forbidding hand. “And I don’t care either,” she added quickly, stopping Kurt from explaining. “All I care about is not having to deal with him anymore. I just thought you should know he’s milking the end of your relationship for all it’s worth. I doubt I’m the only one he told his sob story to, to get something out of it.”

Kurt sighed. “I bet he didn’t tell you I broke up with him because _he_ cheated on me. Twice. Or, at least twice, anyway.”

“He conveniently left that out. I guess it didn’t sound very good when he was trying to paint you as the heartless, career-obsessed manorexic and himself as the caring father of your future adopted children.”

Kurt’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” he called out, rising to his feet. He reigned in his temper immediately as Ms July put her hands up. Kurt sighed. “I don’t even know where to start,” he mumbled to himself.

“Then don’t. It’s not even a real insult. I think everyone here at NYADA should be career-obsessed. It’s what you’re here for. Which reminds me: I have something for you.”

“Huh?”

Ms July got up and rummaged around in her bag until she found her phone. She scrolled through it, jotted down a number on a piece of paper, and handed it to him.

“A former director of mine, Hugo Pilcher. Give him a call.”

Kurt stared at her. Was she hooking him up?

Ms July seemed to have read his mind and she shook her head. “No, no, not like that. He’s doing a children’s Christmas matinee off Broadway and his lead just broke an ankle. He’s looking for a replacement and I said I knew someone who’d be perfect.”

“Really?” Kurt asked, looking down at the number. “What are they playing?”

“Pinocchio.”

Kurt lowered his hand, feeling his stomach drop at the same time. For a moment, he had gotten his hopes up, but it turned out to just be a dig at his face and his voice. Maybe she felt like she had something to prove after showing him her softer side. He gathered up his notes and put them in his bag. “Thanks for the review,” he said, and hitched the bag on to his shoulder.

“At least think about it. It’s easy money. Two weeks of rehearsals, three shows, and you’re off with a thousand bucks in your pocket and a good quote on your resumé.”

Oh. She was serious? Kurt frowned. “Why me?” he asked, still sceptical.

“You’re the only one in my class whom I think could pull off learning the entire choreography on such short notice - and sing at the same time. I even checked with your vocal coach. He says the score is well within your reach.”

“But Pinocchio…” Kurt sighed. “I just wished that maybe-”

“You’d be cast as Hercules?” Ms July said. “I believe in Christmas Miracles as much as the next gal, but I think you’ll need to spend a little more time at the gym for that.”

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It felt like the talk with his dad at the shop all over again, when he lost Tony.

“Pinocchio is a perfectly good part,” Ms July offered. “I was Peter Pan in a show for six months!” She rolled her eyes. “Definitely confirmed my resolution never to have kids.”

“I just don’t want to get typecast,” Kurt confessed.

“The trick is getting cast at all, for all of us,” Ms July said. “Look, with my recommendation and your NYADA schooling at your back, you got a foot in with this gig. Get a feel for the theatre, earn some money for Christmas presents, and worry about typecasting later. For now, you got a real chance here.”

Kurt nodded. “Thank you.” He felt a little guilty for assuming the worst.

Ms July nodded dismissively. As he put his hand on the door, he turned around.

“Merry Christmas, Ms July,” he said.

She raised her Starbucks cup in salute.


	17. Chapter 17

**ELLIOTT**

“ _Trendy christmas sweaters for this season_ \- ugh. No. They’re not trendy at all. No one who buys these actually want to be trendy. _Get your christmas spirit on with these fine-as-jingle-bells sweaters by_ – Nope. Too corny,” Elliott muttered, erasing what he had just written. As it turned out, writing online ads- ones that described a product as well as enticed people to click on them- sounded easier than it was. Especially if you were writing them for clothing that was so hideous you wouldn’t want to gift it to your worst enemy.

Elliott sat back in his cubicle and let his thoughts wander. Naturally, they wandered to Kurt. Kurt would know what to write. Or, failing that, he’d know what to say about those sweaters to cheer Elliott up. He grinned, took out his phone, and sent Kurt a link.

When there was no direct reply, he checked the clock and realized Kurt was probably still at his _Pinocchio_ audition. Elliott sighed. He couldn’t help but feel like a slacker when he looked at everything Kurt was doing. Sure, Elliott had had midterms too, and he worked hard on them, and now he had this one job- but he didn’t have an internship and (possibly) a theatre show on top. He almost felt guilty for taking up so much of Kurt’s spare time, with his storage problems and the band.

With that thought, he couldn’t help but think about the last time they had talked about One Three Hill.

_Kurt lay on his back on the couch. The girls had left hours ago, but Kurt had stayed and Elliott was loathe to send him out, despite having to get up early. They had stopped talking a while ago and were just listening to music instead, a comfortable silence between them. Suddenly, out the blue, Kurt remarked:_

_“You know, you could have just moved in with me.”_

_Elliott turned from where he was seated on the floor, leaning against the couch, and looked at him. “And stay in Rachel’s room?” he asked, not sure if he had understood correctly._

_“Yeah,” Kurt said, still looking up. “I have all this space, and I’m not really doing anything with it.”_

_He sounded casual. Elliott didn’t think there was any agenda behind it. He wasn’t offering a place in his bed, just in his loft. “I like this place, though,” Elliott said. “Maybe you should move in with me. You spend a lot of time here already, anyway.” He held his breath a little._

_Kurt rolled over to face him. “Do you want me to go home?” he asked._

_“No! No, that’s not what I meant!” Elliott said quickly. “I just- I like you being here. I… I wouldn’t mind if you were here all the time. That’s what I meant.”_

_Kurt smiled and turned on his back again. “I live closer to NYADA though. And you only have one bedroom.”_

_“Hmmm.”_

_Elliott waited for a reaction from Kurt. Something to tell him where to go from here. Should he stop, should he wait some more for Kurt to decide what he wanted? Or was this the moment the girls had been pushing for? The silence was killing him._

_“We could also use Rachel’s old room as a band rehearsal room,” Elliott offered to fill the silence. “That way we won’t have to pack up all of our our stuff every time. I could leave my amp and my microphones at your place, and maybe the keyboard and the guitars, and Dani wouldn’t need to drag her stuff all over town either- and you already have all of our sheet music and the microphone stands. An actual band room. Wouldn’t it be cool if One Three Hill had a postal address to send fanmail to? Maybe we could even put in a temporary wall and isolate it so we can record-. ”_

_Kurt had sat up and was looking at him._

_Elliott faltered. “Or not- …Are you okay?”_

_“I should go,” Kurt said, getting to his feet. “I, uh, have this video critique in the morning and I should really be awake for that. I’ll call you, okay?”_

_“Okay…”_

Elliott had no idea if he had come on too strongly, or not strong enough. But something he had said had sent Kurt running for the door. When he called the next day, Kurt sounded normal again, be it a bit tired. He didn’t pick up on the band room idea, so Elliott left that for now. He could always ask again after Christmas. There was no interest in his big amp on ebay so far anyway.

He sat back in his chair and tried to focus on promoting hideous christmas sweaters in under 100 characters.

Then, his phone buzzed.

_“OMG my eyes- THEY BLEED. Kill it with fire. How about “Perfect Gift For Mr Darcy - Nr 1 shop stop for Bridget Jones Fans” ? ;-P “_

“That…might actually work,” Elliott mumbled. “And it’s just 65 characters.”

“ _Perfect. How did your audition go??_ ” he texted back, and pushed his phone back into his pocket. He had put it on vibrate, not sure if it was okay to use his private phone during work hours. Kurt had told him about the time he just started at Vogue and Blaine kept calling him at the office. He was lucky he had Isabelle as a boss; she only gave him a warning. But Elliott was still on his probation period and he really needed this job.

_“I got the part! Rehearsals start tomorrow!!”_

Okay, screw being on his best behavior. This was awesome. Elliott picked up his phone and logged off his pc, hurrying off to the men’s room to call Kurt back.

“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” he said as soon as Kurt picked up. He was standing inside a booth, trying to keep his voice down but letting out his enthusiasm at the same time, making him sound rather high-pitched in the echo-ey room.

“Thanks! Not _that_ amazing, though. I was the only one to audition. They literally didn’t have anyone else,” Kurt said humbly.

Elliott tsked him. “In our business, there’s _always_ someone else.”

“Hmm. That’s true.”

“So are you excited?” Elliott asked.

“I am! I can’t wait to meet the rest of the cast!” Kurt paused a little. “There’s a downside, though.”

Elliott frowned. “What? The salary? I thought your teacher said it was pretty good?”

  
“No, no, that’s fine. It’s just that getting this part means I am going to be super-swamped the coming weeks. I don’t know how much time I’ll have for the band, and…” Kurt trailed off.

_For you_ , Elliott added in his mind. He pushed down a brief spark of disappointment and concentrated on Kurt again. This was his moment. “Hey, that’s ok. I understand. Dani will too. And doing this will put your name out there- that will only benefit One Three Hill in the long run, right?”

“Right. Still, I had hoped we’d be able to book some christmas party gigs….” Kurt sighed. “I’ll also miss just hanging out with you guys. But it’s just until christmas, I promise.”

“Kurt, it’s really okay,” Elliott assured him. “I’m just happy for you. I’m sure Dani is too. This is huge! Your first show in New York!”

“I know! It’s just…”

Elliott could almost hear Kurt gathering courage for what he was about to say.

“… _new_ not to have to apologize for my success. When I got my internship, my friends were more concerned with getting free make-overs or complaining about how little time I had left for them than with being happy for me. And I know for a fact Blaine was disappointed I got into NYADA halfway through the year because he was hoping to start with me in summer.”

“Or _without_ you,” Elliott couldn’t keep himself from adding. He heard Kurt sigh.

“Yeah. And when I won Midnight Madness Rachel made me feel awful for weeks. Whenever good things happen to me, I am blamed rather than celebrated for it.”

Elliott leaned back against the door of the stall. “Enough hints. We’ll throw you a surprise party already,” he teased.

“That was not what I was-!” Kurt started, and Elliott laughed.

“I know, honey. I just wanted you to lighten up. This is a good thing and many more good things will be coming your way. You deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

Then, Elliott heard Kurt gasp.

“What is it?”

“I just realized we’ll also need to pick a new time for our guitar lessons. I won’t be able to make it tomorrow, rehearsal starts at 10 and it’s at least a 45 minute drive!”

Elliott thought about it. Friday mornings were the only time neither of them had class and they had adjusted their working schedules to accomodate Kurt’s ambition to learn to play. Elliott had Thursday evenings free due to cancelling yoga, but he knew Thursday was go-live day for changes to the Vogue site and Kurt often had to stop by the office to help. The rest of his days were filled up with diner shifts, and Elliott had just committed to 3 afternoons a week for his new job.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find the time,” he promised. “Just go to rehearsal first and see how much energy you have left after that.”

“I _do_ want to keep practising,” Kurt said. “Otherwise I’ll just let it slide again and I’ll never learn. Besides, I _just_ started growing calluses on my fingertips. Oh god… I can’t believe I just said that.”

Elliott laughed out loud again. “My little rockstar.”

“Don’t tease me.”

A toilet flushed loudly next to Elliott.

“Oh my god, are you in the restroom? Get back to work!” Kurt admonished him sternly, and Elliott chuckled.

“Bye, Kurt. And congratulations.”

“Bye, Elliott. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was unbeta'ed. Feel free to let me know if you find something amiss, I appreciate the feedback!


	18. Chapter 18

**KURT**

Pinocchio was everything Ms July had promised and more. It was hard work, but rewarding, in more ways than one. Kurt got along very well with Pilcher and the cast, most of whom were children. Being closer to their age than the men playing Gepetto, Jiminy Cricket and Foulfellow, the kids naturally flocked to him as their confidant and playmate during rehearsal.

The Blue Fairy was played by a feisty, petite woman from Texas, who reminded him a lot of April Rhodes. She had an amazing voice- and a nose for talent. She overheard Kurt sing _[When You Wish Upon A Star](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjGP-1eMgzUE&t=MDc2MDE4ZmUwNjAyZjI0NjVjYmM0NDdhNGUyMmJkOTkxZjY4NzNmNixXWU9jQ0FMSw%3D%3D)_ to the children while they waited to be fitted for their costumes, and demanded they’d sing it together in the play. Pilcher was delighted, having found so much more in his replacement casting than he ever thought possible, and it became the show’s highlight; along with Kurt’s dance and song for _I’ve Got No Strings_.

  
The performances were packed (extra seating was added after preview praise from the dress rehearsal appeared on several theatre blogs) and a small piece even appeared on the NYADA student website. Pilcher graciously allowed Elliott to make a mobile phone bootleg “for Kurt’s dad” after Kurt explained he had cancer and couldn’t make it (twisting the truth a little- yeah, his dad _did_ have cancer, but it was still in remission, he just couldn’t make the shows because of work), and thus, Elliott was there filming all 3 performances so they could pick the best take. And while Burt would definitely get to see the video, Kurt now had something to show for his hard work too, even if he wasn’t officially allowed to share it.

On the last matinée, Kurt took a snapshot of the audience to upload it to his facebook, and as an afterthought, sent it to Cassandra July’s NYADA email address as well, with a thank-you note. When he checked his phone after the play, he had received a picture in return: a large, thin harlequin cat with bright blue eyes, sitting in a travel carrier on a bench in front of an animal shelter. The cat was looking like she couldn’t care less, but Kurt was pretty positive she was just putting up a facade, like her new owner.

With the money in his bankaccount and the experience on his resumée, Kurt was now going into the holidays a lot better off than he was a few weeks ago. Still, the whole ‘Christmas spirit’ hadn’t really caught yet. He’d never felt less like traveling back to Lima, knowing that it meant a week without seeing Elliott (and possibly running in to Blaine). He knew he ought to be glad as it would give him time to think about things and get some distance, but he also knew he’d probably just end up missing Elliott instead. At least at Christmas, no one noticed if you spiked your drink.

Kurt signed the final playbill for his small co-stars and hung up his Pinocchio hat. That was it. His vacation had officially begun. But before he left, he still had one annual tradition to fulfill.

*

“Okay, what is it?”

Kurt looked up from his icecream sundae at Mercedes, who somehow managed to smile and look stern at the same time.

“What?” he asked.

“I know you. Something’s up. We’ve been Christmas shopping all morning and you haven’t even gotten yourself anything. All you got was a new hat for your dad, a scarf for Carole, and some kind of cat toy. You don’t even own a cat.” She paused, then suddenly looked a little horrified. “Oh god, it’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Kurt snorted, then shook his head. “No. It’s really a cat toy. It’s for someone at school. Well, for someone’s cat, anyway.” Then he nodded at the tall glass in front of him. “I got us ice cream? That counts.”

Mercedes shook her head. “Nah. Something’s going on. It’s like you’re not even really here. You’re distracted. You didn’t even see that shoe sale until you literally ran into the sign!”

Kurt prodded his frozen treat with his spoon. “Yeah, I know.” After all this time, Mercedes still knew him well.

“Is it boys?” she asked. “This Tim guy from school?”

Kurt shook his head.

“Or what was his name? Nicholas?”

Kurt shook his head again, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks. He had told Mercedes about his recent adventures when it got too much to keep to himself, but he hadn’t told her his reasons behind it.

Nicholas was another student from his stage combat class. Kurt had been paired up with him for his midterm, and they had continued their exercise in the NYADA showers. It had been crazy hot (and took several things off his bucket list in one go), but Kurt had avoided him afterwards when he realized Nicholas and Tim were friends and the situation felt too weird. He hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward when classes started again.

“It’s not Blaine, is it?” Mercedes sounded horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t fall for all of those Christmas videos he’s been posting on your wall… _Sleepless in Seattle…Love, Actually._ It’s totally obvious what he’s doing.”

“No, no. God, no,” Kurt said, rolling his shoulders back to suppress a shiver. “No, it’s not Blaine.” He let out a deep sigh. “I think I’m in love with Elliott.” He gave his ice cream another prod. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I am.”

“Why is that a bad thing? Elliott’s a great guy!” Mecedes said supportively.

Kurt sighed. “Yes, he is. He’s sweet, and caring, and mature…. And he’s my best friend- best _guy_ friend-” he corrected, giving Mercedes a pointed look. “He has never made me feel bad about being who I am, ever. He kept my band together when everything was falling apart. And I love hanging out with him. He helps me with stuff, I help him. Whenever something exciting happens, I call him first.”

Mercedes smiled. She clearly understood that Elliott had filled a bit of the gap she had left when she went to LA, and bore him no ill will over it.

“He’s also pretty hot,” she added, “Right?” She nudged his shoulder and winked.

Kurt nodded. After so many years, she definitely knew his type. “Yes. But that’s the problem. Now that I realized I am beginning to like him as more than a friend, it’s becoming really hard to keep it together around him.”

“But isn’t Elliott…?” Mercedes asked, circling her finger at Kurt.

“He is,” Kurt confirmed. “But he made it quite clear he just wants to be friends.”

“How clear is _quite_ clear? Because we both know a little about misreading people’s cues…” Mercedes said.

“Clear as in he literally said so,” Kurt replied miserably.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“So how long has this been going on?”

Kurt sighed again. “Pretty much since I broke up with Blaine. Maybe even before that, and I just didn’t know it.”

Mercedes put a hand on his arm and squeezed it softly. “Oh, honey. These things really suck.”

“Yeah,” Kurt replied. “I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s not working.”

Mercedes cocked her head. “So having sex with two other guys was you trying to get over your crush on Elliott?”

“Three,” Kurt corrected, feeling guilty. While the first two didn’t weigh on his conscience very much, the third, Walter, a single father with a ten year old son in the _Pinocchio_ cast, did. He had deserved a lot more than someone as emotionally unavailable as Kurt.

Mercedes gasped. “Oh my. Why did you think that was a good idea?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought if I could just get it out of my system…”

“Haven’t we seen enough romantic movies to know that _never_ works?” Mercedes said sternly. “If it’s _really_ love…”

“I know, I know.” With all of the crappy Christmas stuff Blaine had been posting on his wall, he had actually given it a lot of thought already. _Real love_ … that only made it worse.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, smiling sadly. “You know me. I bounce back, always.”

Mercedes put on a smile too. “Just bounce safely, alright?”

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Kurt teased, his smile genuine this time.

*

A few hours later, after Kurt was back at the loft with his sparse selection of presents, he got a text from Mercedes.

_Thought about it some more. Tell him. He’s your best friend. He’ll understand. Don’t be the guy who ends up busting a car window out of frustration ;-)_

Kurt smiled at the bittersweet memory. But telling him? Was that really a good idea?

Maybe it was. A large part of what made their friendship great was their honesty, and now they didn’t have that. If Kurt told Elliott how he felt, even if it lead to nothing, he wouldn’t have to hide a part of his life any more. And after that, at least he could tell him about Walter. He was sure Elliott would know just what to say to make him feel better.

The prospect was daunting, and every time Kurt tried to imagine a scenario in which to tell him, his mind placed Elliott in a chair in the choir room of McKinley.

A serenade. That was really the only way Kurt knew how to tell him. But he couldn’t possibly ship Elliott off to Lima to sing a song to him in front of a bunch of teenagers… Then, a thought struck him. The Winter Showcase. As an invité, Kurt had the opportunity to take a plus-one; what if he took Elliott and sang to him there? He was going to take his dad, but this was actually perfect. Surely there was a song he could pick that would hold up to NYADA’s standards as well as convey his feelings- the best songs were all about love, after all. He’d get everything off his chest as well as give Madame Tibideaux the ‘complexity and depth’ she looked for in her students. If she wanted vulnerability, this was it.

It didn’t take long for Kurt to decide on the song. He smiled at himself as the idea formed in his mind. Yes, Sondheim again. He’d have to start paying royalties to the man soon.

He sent Mercedes a thank you and a kissy face, and dialled Elliott’s number to invite him to the Winter Showcase, feeling a little relieved already.


	19. Chapter 19

**ELLIOTT**

Elliott had never been happier for his yoga and meditation experiences than over Christmas dinner. After his mother had talked at length about the price of the meat she was serving (and how there’s no pricetag on quality), the new mint green paint on the walls of their living room (and how much difference it made to the beige), his stepfather had started a series of long, politically incorrect monologues, only interrupted occasionally by encouraging and admiring words from Elliott’s mother. Elliott focused his eyes on the mint green behind his stepfather’s head and went through several cycles of Three Breaths, ignoring the speech about how ‘millennials were all single and miserable because they were incapable of partnerships and compromise’.

Then, his stillness was chased away by an unexpected direct question.

“How about you? Have you managed to tie a girl down yet?”

His stepfather was looking at him.

“Uh,” Elliott started, “Actually, Ted, I’m-”  A sharp pain shot through his shin. His mother was glaring at him, and Elliott quickly gathered her intentions. No coming outs over Christmas roast. “Very busy with my education right now,” he finished, picking his battles.

“See? _That’s_ what I mean!” Ted said, pointing his fork at Elliott while looking at his wife. “Too self-involved to think about starting a family!” He scoffed. “Then again, it’s not like you could afford one, anyway. Studying arts. There’s no work in that.”

Elliott bit down on several possible replies, knowing they’d only make the discussion last longer. Maybe he could shut it down. “I have a job, actually,” he said calmly.

“You do?” His mother asked, astounded. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

Instinctively, her hurt tone made Elliott feel guilty. Then, he remembered the long talks he’d had about her with Kurt, who’d told him over and over again that he owed her nothing just for being her son. Respect and loyalty had to be earned, and she hadn’t done anything lately that warranted being informed about his life. Elliott doubted she even really wanted to. It was like she had given up trying when his father died, like she had only ever loved him for her husband’s sake.

“Well, I am a copywriter now. Part-time of course. Still studying _useless art_ , too.”

“So what is that?” Ted asked, a little crossly for having his assumptions proven wrong. “Something with books?”

“No, I write advertisements for websites, like when you google-”

“Oh my god, I really hate those!” Ted interrupted. “I don’t understand why they still have ads. No one ever clicks them-”  
  


“I _definitely_ never click them,” Elliott’s mother agreed eagerly.

“And they’re so annoying, always blocking your screen and flashing and starting music-” Ted continued, waving his hands frantically to mimic a blinking screen.

“So inappropriate,” Elliott’s mother added.

“Actually, I don’t make any pop-ups or overlays-” Elliott started, “just non-intrusive, text-based ads that show up on the side of your screen, triggered by your search--” He wasn’t allowed to finish.

“ _Non-intrusive_!” Ted repeated. “They intrude upon my privacy! I can’t even use the internet without advertisers _spying_ on me, bugging me, pushing their products in my face-”

“Isn’t that even illegal?” Elliott’s mother chimed in.

Elliott gave up. “Maybe I’ll take some wine after all, mom,” he mumbled, nodding at his empty glass.

*

  
_“Kurt? Hey. I know it’s Christmas Eve and you’re with your dad, and….that’s great, you know, I wish my dad was here too, I’d totally hang out with him if he wasn’t dead. Um. That’s not what I wanted to say. You know what? Blaine is an asshole. What he did, that was...not cool. It was like, the shittiest thing anyone ever, I mean- you are just perfect and he’s so -- He didn’t deserve you. But you know that I guess. I mean, you broke up with him, right? Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m not making sense. I’m a little...But...man, I miss you. A lot. Not just now, but, like, all the time when you’re not there. That’s what I meant the other day. You should come stay at my place. With me. For real. Because…  we make sense. You and I. Together. And I promise to treat you with respect and never cheat on you or break your stuff or ruin your clothes on purpose and I will cook for you if you want- I… I love you, Kurt. So….ok. I gotta pee.”_

“BEEP.”

*

**KURT**

It took Kurt a moment to realize what the buzzing noise was that woke him up. When he finally understood, it had already stopped. Kurt blinked in the dark, trying to focus his bleary eyes, and checked the clock. It was very early on Christmas morning. It was still dark outside. He reached for his phone and saw that Elliott had left a message while he was asleep, and that he had already tried calling twice that morning- once just now. Wondering what was so important, Kurt sat up in his bed and called Elliott back.

“Hey. Merry Christmas. What’s going on?” he asked as Elliott picked up.

“Kurt. Have you checked your messages yet?” Elliott asked urgently.

“Uh, no, I just woke up and saw that you called, figured I’d better call right away...”

“Can you please delete it?”

Kurt frowned, shaking his head a little in the dark. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m not really awake yet. What do you mean?”

“My voice mail from last night. Just delete it, please. Please, Kurt, trust me on this.”

“Okay,” Kurt replied, still confused. “Hold on.” He tapped out of the call to erase his mailbox, then put the phone back to his ear. “Done. Now what was that all about?”

“Did you delete it?”

“Yes. I just _said_ so- Elliott, what is going on? What happened? Did you butt-dial me while you were doing something embarrassing?” A series of scenarios presented themselves in Kurt’s head, and some of them were quite sexy- he kind of regretted deleting the message now.

Elliott’s side of the line was quiet for a moment. The longer it took, the more worried Kurt got. If it was just something like Elliott accidentally recording himself masturbating, he would have told him by now.  
  
“I was so drunk last night,” Elliott admitted in a small, pained voice.

“You? But I thought you didn’t-”

“I don’t. I mean, I try not to, but-- they were driving me crazy, Kurt. Mom and Ted. I couldn’t help it. I know alcohol is never the answer, but-”

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, honey,” Kurt calmed him. “Are you very sick?”

“A little. I didn’t have that much, but it got to my head fast.”

“Mmmm. I guess that happens when you’re not in training. So ...you guys had a fight?”

“Sort of. They were really going for me, like, nothing I ever do is going to be good enough.”

Kurt cringed at Elliott’s tone, which was unusually hurt. He was always so self-confident. Nothing fazed him, ever. Even when he had talked about his family situation in the past, he had always made it sound like he was irritated, more than afflicted by it. Had that been self-preservation? Maybe he and Elliott had even more in common than Kurt already knew.

“I’m sorry. You know they’re full of shit, right?” Kurt paused, but Elliott didn’t reply.  “And then you had too much to drink and… made a few embarrassing calls?” he prompted.

“Just one, to you. I… don’t even remember exactly what I said, but I know I said some rude stuff about Blaine, and...some other...stuff. Kurt, I feel awful about it.”

“Don’t. I don’t mind. Whatever you said, it doesn’t matter. I erased it, right?”

“Yeah.” The line went quiet again.

“Come on, I puked on your shoes. Fair is fair. I’m actually glad you’re not perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Not _that_ far.” Kurt listened to the silence on the other side and realized Elliott was probably thinking about the fight with his mom and stepdad.

“Do you want to go over what they said so I can debunk it?” he offered

“No, thanks. I’d rather not think about it, right now.” Elliott sighed. “How was your Christmas eve?”

Kurt sighed. “Hard. But I guess that’s what we all expected. Our first Christmas without Finn was always going to be tough. We did as well as we could.”

He lay back into his pillows again and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s funny. At the funeral, all I could think about were the big things. You know, all the milestones in life, in our lives and his own, that he was gonna miss. Finishing college. Getting a full-time job. Starting a family. Being thanked in my first Tony speech.”

Kurt heard Elliott chuckle a little, and the sound made him smile as well. It helped. It was too hard to talk about this and not try to keep the pain at distance with humor..

“But I never considered all the small things,” Kurt continued. “My dad, stoically sitting through the ‘sportsperson of the year special’ all by himself. Carole, making way too much food. And me, well…” Kurt bit his lip, and his voice wavered as his throat started closing up. “Me short of someone to blame for losing Christmas Eve charades.” He let out a small sob. “It’s stupid. It’s _stupid_.”

“No, it’s not,” Elliott said. “You’re allowed to miss the little things too.”

“I miss everything,” Kurt whispered.

“I wish I could have met him,” Elliott said.

Kurt cleared his throat and forced it to cooperate. “Me too,” he said, then laughed a little. “He’d probably say something like ‘finally someone I can see eye to eye with’. You know. Because he was a giant like you.”

Elliott laughed. Then he grew quiet again. Kurt wondered who he was thinking of. His dad, probably.

“Hey, do you want to spend New Year’s Eve with me?” Kurt suddenly asked. “Isabelle invited me to a private party, I wasn’t gonna go, but I was thinking of coming back to New York early-”

“I thought you were going to stay in Lima?” Elliott asked.

Kurt shrugged. “After last night, I don’t think my dad will mind. It’s like us being together as a family only reminds everyone of how incomplete we are.”

“Well, that won’t go away until you practise being a family with those who are left,” Elliott said gently.

“I know,” Kurt replied with a sigh, “I’ve been through it before. But I don’t want to force it.”

Elliott was quiet for a bit. Then, he said: “It takes time.”

“It does. Two days is enough for now. I don’t want to put Carole in a position where she has to look at me and my dad ring in the new year while she stands there by herself. She needs my dad more than I do right now.”

“I understand. Of course, if you’re sure about coming home, that’d be awesome,” Elliott said.

“I am.” Kurt smiled at the way Elliott had referred to New York as ‘home’ even though neither of them were born there. He was right, though- it had felt like home ever since the first time he set foot there. Even more so now that he had a real best friend to come back to.

Then, he remembered something. Before they planned the end of the year, they still had something else to do. It was Christmas Morning!

“Wanna open each other’s presents now?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Elliott replied. “Hold on.”

Kurt used the moment to pull a small, soft, giftwrapped square from his bedside drawer. Elliott had given it to him before he left, making him promise he’d wait until December 25th to open it. In return, Kurt had given him his present to take along to his family as well.

“Okay, are you ready?” Kurt asked, putting his phone on speaker.

“Yep,” came from the other side. “Three, two, one, go!”

Kurt eagerly peeled at the tape that held his present together- then got impatient and tore the paper open. He gasped. “Elliott, you didn’t,” he mumbled, and gingerly lifted the silk scarf from its wrapping.

“Oh my god, Kurt, this is awesome!” Elliott said happily, clearly having opened his present. Kurt had made a self-digitalized cd of his fleamarket glamrock vinyls. It was a mix of the songs Elliott played the most when they hung out at the loft. Kurt was quite happy with how it turned out, but it felt very inadequate next to the present he had just received.

“Elliott, this is way too expensive. I can’t let you do that. I know you need the money,” he said sternly, taking a longing look at the scarf before putting it back in the paper.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do, I’ve been eying it for months at the auctions but I never got lucky.”

“Well, I did.”

“Still,” Kurt argued, “You really shouldn’t have. This would easily pay for your yoga classes for a month or more.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m serious. You know that box of Western novels you helped me put on ebay? Turned out they were collector’s items.”  
  
Kurt bit his lip. He wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse knowing that the money for his present had come from Elliott selling his dad’s books.

“Come on,” Elliott said. “It’s Christmas, and you deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Kurt replied, touching the soft fabric tenderly. “So, what are your plans for today?” he asked.

“Brunch with my mom’s extended family. I guess it’ll be okay. I doubt Ted will make a scene in front of his inlaws, and some of my cousins are all right. After that, home. I don’t want to spend another night here.”

Kurt winced a little at Elliott’s miserable tone, and looked for something to try and cheer him up. “Brunch is not too bad. It means you can get back to bed for a little bit and sleep off last night first.”

“Nah. I’m awake now. I might as well get dressed.”

From Elliott’s side of the line, Kurt could hear he had put on his new cd. He smiled, then yawned. “Well, I still need to finish my beauty sleep.” He hung his shawl out where he could see it, burrowed himself back into the blankets and put his phone on his pillow next to him.

“Don’t hang up,” he mumbled. “I wanna listen to the music.”

“Okay. Sleep well, Kurt. And merry Christmas.”

Kurt smiled and closed his eyes, letting himself drift back into sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**KURT  
**

“Somehow, dressing up for New Year’s Eve in New York always ends up a glitter contest, doesn’t it?” Elliott mused as they exited the subway.

Kurt eyed his friend, who was wearing a top hat, a sparkling jacket with matching earrings and a lot of eyeliner. Kurt himself was wearing his red dinner jacket, which was fairly modest, though he did accessorize with a bedazzled brooch. It was true they weren’t the only ones on their way to a party dressed to impress. “You’re just disappointed no one is stopping you for autographs tonight,” he teased.

Elliott sighed dramatically. “Nobody loves me anymore…”

“Shut up,” Kurt scolded him gently, and took his arm as they walked. “You know that isn’t true.” He smirked and paused deliberately, then said: “I happen to know that the little old lady two floors down at the loft is very fond of you.”

Elliott chuckled. “It wasn’t always like that. She used to give me and my tats _very_ fishy looks when she spotted me going up to the loft until I helped her carry those bags of cat litter.” 

“No good deed goes unrewarded,” Kurt replied sagely. “Here we are.”

They looked up at a tall building where one window in particular stood out. It was wide open, and light was streaming out- along with loud, pumping music.

“Sounds like the party has already started,” Kurt said.

“Isabelle must have very relaxed neighbours. Mine call the cops on me every time I so much as forget to plug in my headphones when I’m jamming,” Elliott said.

Kurt shrugged. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m pretty sure the cops have something better to do than noise patrol tonight. Come on.”

They made their way up the stairs to Isabelle’s place. On the front door, Isabelle had posted a note telling new arrivals to text her in case no one heard the bell over the music, so Kurt did. Not long after, Isabelle opened the door, in a beautiful flower-patterned dress with a puffy petticoat and a big bow on her shoulder.

Kurt gasped. “Oh my god, is that-?” He asked, staring at her outfit.

Isabelle nodded and looked very pleased. She twirled around. “I couldn’t resist,” she said. “We had it in for the Dior vintage festival and it was _almost_ my size...”

“You almost can’t tell,” Elliott said, equally impressed. “Side darts around the zipper, right?”

“And a little over the chest,” Isabelle confirmed, frowning a little at her own cleavage before looking up and finding her smile again. “You must be Elliott.”

“Gosh, yes, of course. Isabelle, Elliott,” Kurt quickly introduced them, and Elliott shook Isabelle’s gloved hand.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Elliott said.

“Any friend of Kurt’s is a friend of mine,” Isabelle said graciously, then frowned. “ _Although…_ ” She turned to Kurt.

“He’s not going to break out in Christmas Carols when we’re getting our kiki on, is he?”

“What?” Elliott said, sounding confused.

Kurt laughed. “I’ll tell you once we get inside,” he said, still chuckling.

 

*

Though Isabelle often complained about her one-bedroom apartment in Midtown, Kurt always loved going there. It was a whole different place every time he went. Isabelle changed her furniture almost as often as other people changed the background picture on their phones. Tonight, it looked extremely minimalist- a practical choice given how many people she had invited to fit into the place. Drinks were stacked in crates or coolers by the window sills and a plain wood pasting table held a selection of catering fingerfoods. The alcove that usually held Isabelle’s bed was cleared out to make room for a DJ’s mixing booth.

“Where’s the kitchen?” Elliott asked, a little surprised. 

“Over there,” Kurt replied, pointing at the microwave on a shelf over a small sink

in the corner of the room. “Isabelle’s not much of a cooking type.” He watched fondly as Elliott shook his head. As dear as Elliott held his home-made food, Kurt knew his friend could never live like this. Then again, neither could he. There was something comforting about making Ohio food (or more specifically, his mom’s recipes) in New York. His own kitchen at the loft was also the place he had finally been able to try out all of those foreign recipes he couldn’t make in Lima for lack of proper ingredients.

“I feel like I have seen some of Isabelle’s guests before,” Elliott said, looking pensive. “Are they all models?” 

“Well, some of them are,” Kurt said, and subtly nodded at a group of tall men and women talking animatedly. “Mostly runway, but you may have seen some in magazines.” Then he turned and cast a glance over his shoulder. “The blond twins over there are her caterers- they do a lot of stuff for Vogue whenever we have important guests over. The mink lady is Isabelle’s fabric specialist- she knows where to get the best material for any of Isabelle’s creations.”

Kurt looked around the room for other people he knew. “There are Chase and Daphne, they’re in Isabelle’s team at the office.”

“Is she okay?” Elliott asked, looking a little concerned.

Kurt followed his eyes and studied Daphne for a moment. “I think so. She usually looks like that.” Then he noticed someone else near his colleagues. “Oh! Talking to Isabelle right now is Marigold, a fabulous designer. She was a special guest on RuPaul’s Drag Race once, maybe you recognize her?”

Ellliott nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! Doesn’t she have her own boutique in LA?”

“Yes! Isabelle adores her work. And she’s super fun to talk to. I’ll introduce you!”

*

Elliott and Marigold really hit it off, and Kurt used the opportunity to do a little mingling himself, and try the fingerfood. He was pleased to find that Isabelle’s friends actually remembered him from the Thanksgiving party- he hadn’t thought he had made such a lasting impression, as preoccupied as he had been with his first break-up with Blaine that night.

Just as he was helping himself to some canapés, Isabelle snuck on him by the window.

“I like him,” she said.

“Huh?” Kurt let out, his mouth full of salmon cracker.

“Your new boyfriend. Much better than Blaine.”

Kurt shook his head, hastily chewed and swallowed. “He’s not. My boyfriend, I mean. He is definitely better than Blaine, though.”

“He’s not? But you seem so…” Isabelle said, circling her finger and trailing off. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. I’m just as happy for you if he’s a good friend.”

Kurt smiled, but his mind was racing. Of all the people he had met in New York, Isabelle knew him the best (apart from Elliott). For her to think they were a couple... Was it just his side? Was he making moon eyes around Elliott? Or was she seeing something in _Elliott_ too? Kurt was just about to ask when Isabelle continued.

“Do you know if he’s looking for a job? Because I was talking to him and he really knows his stuff. I could use someone like him at the office.”

“Oh, um, he just started this other job but his heart isn’t really in it, so I can always ask him,” Kurt said, a little surprised. “What kind of job is it?”

“I need someone on my team with technical experience,” Isabelle said. She cocked her head. “You know I’d ask you first but you said you wanted to concentrate on NYADA for now,” she offered a little apologetically. “You’d definitely be my first pick.”

Kurt smiled. “That’s very sweet, but you’re right. Doing _Pinocchio_ only confirmed my belief that I’m in the right place right now. I love fashion, but Broadway was my first dream.”

“And what kind of fairy godmother would I be if I didn’t tell you to follow that dream?” Isabelle asked playfully. “Now go on, enjoy yourself. I need to go talk to my DJ about getting some party music up in here.”

 

*

  
“I can’t believe I may actually work at _Vogue_ before I even graduate!” Elliott said, gesticulating so much his top hat almost slid off the back of his hair.  
  
“A perk of being friends with Kurt Hummel,” Kurt said smugly, and reached over to adjust Elliott’s hat.

“One of many perks,” Elliott replied, and kissed Kurt’s cheek before he could draw back. Kurt blushed a little, and wondered if this was what Isabelle saw between them.

“I need another virgin cocktail,” he said, and rose from his make-shift seat on a window sill. Elliott caught his wrist and held him back.

“You can have a real one, you know,” he said. “Solidarity only goes so far- it’s New Year’s Eve. Enjoy yourself.”

Kurt looked at him, and added yet another thing to the list of selfless kindness that made Elliott a better friend than Blaine. “I am,” he said honestly.

 

*

 

Not long after, the party was rocking. Everyone- even Daphne- was up and dancing. Kurt was shimmying for all he was worth, mouthing the lyrics of a party song to Elliott, who was playing air guitar. Kurt was letting it all go; he had never felt more at home than here, dancing with his best friend, surrounded by beautiful and fashionable people who had taken him in as one of their own. It was exactly the way he had always imagined life in New York to be.

Of course, when he had imagined it, lying in his bed back in Lima, the clothes in his hamper still damp from the pee balloons a group of fellow students had thrown at him from a car in drive-by style, he had also imagined himself having a large Broadway role and a gorgeous older lover. That part of his fantasy hadn’t quite come true yet, but he didn’t want to be ungrateful for the things he already had. Rocking with the crowd from Vogue was already pretty big for a small-town boy.

He glanced at Elliott. Maybe he shouldn’t wait until the Winter Showcase. Maybe tonight was the night. What if, at midnight, he just kissed him? Not on the cheek, but a real kiss, on the lips? (the kind that they always panned the camera around in slow motion)

As soon as the idea had formed in his head, Kurt started to feel giddy. Time was ticking, and the closer it got to midnight, the more excited he got.

“What’s on your mind?” Elliott had to stand very close and shout into Kurt’s ear to be heard over the music.

“Why?” Kurt replied, feeling a little caught.

“You keep grinning like something’s funny,” Elliott said. “Is it someone behind me?” He continued dancing but moved so he could look over his shoulder.

Kurt shook his head. “I’m just happy to be here with you,” he said loudly.

His reply made Elliott smile. He leaned over and put an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “Me too!”

Then, Kurt could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. He briefly considered ignoring it, but then Elliott- whose thigh was pressed against Kurt’s- felt it too.

“Your phone!” Elliott shouted, and Kurt nodded. Elliott let him go so he could take it from his tight jeans. Kurt looked at the display. It was Santana. Then he looked at the time. He had 8 minutes to get rid of her.

He mimed going outside for a bit to Elliott, who gave him the thumbs up and continued dancing.

 

*

 

“This’d better be good,” Kurt said into his phone as he picked up, standing on the landing in front of Isabelle’s apartment. He had left the door a little ajar so he wouldn’t have to call someone to be let in again. He squinted a little to focus on the sounds from the other side of the line over the thumping music from inside.

“No, it’s bad,” Santana announced ominously, “like, really fucking bad.”

Kurt’s mood plummeted. “What happened?” He pulled the door closed with one hand and leaned against it.

“Well, I went to the loft with a friend, a _female_ friend, okay- and we were just about to get our private party on, if you get what I mean-”

“Wait. _My_ loft? You’re at my place? I thought you gave me back your key!”

“Well, I gave you back _a_ key…”

“I can’t believe this,” Kurt mumbled, shaking his head.

“Your place is hotter than mine, I have no problem admitting that. It’s got so much space and you can be, like, super loud up here-”

“I am _not_ okay with you using my place for a booty call, Santana,” Kurt said sternly.

“Why, it wasn’t like we were gonna do it on your bed. Anyway, that’s not why I called.”

“It’s not?” Kurt asked flatly, bracing himself for the rest of her bad news.

“No. The actual problem is that your ex-boyfriend completely killed my vibe by showing up with his BFF and the New Directions 2.0 to serenade you in front of your door when you’re not even in the fucking building.”

“ _What_?”

“Yeah. We tried ignoring it but it was really loud,” Santana said.

“Not to mention fucking awful,” a familiar voice added.

“Wait… who’s that?” Kurt asked sharply. “Put me on speaker phone.”

The line crackled for a moment.

“Hi Kurt.”

“ _Miss July_?” Kurt asked incredulously. “What...how…?”

“We frequent the same bars. Nice place you got here.”

“I don’t understand. You like _guys_. You stole Brody from Rachel.”

Kurt heard his teacher sigh. “Please don’t make me explain how bisexuality works. It’s not on the curriculum this semester.”

Santana snickered.

“Anyway, I had my eye on her ever since she outed Brody at NYADA, and when she showed up for NYADA Extentions-”

"Wait, how do you even know about that?" Santana interrupted.

"I know everything that goes on in my classroom," Cassandra July replied.  
  
“Really? So has anyone ever used the mirrors to-” Santana’s voice dropped to a whisper and a soft laughter followed. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Yes, back to the acoustic harassment problem,” Santana said, clearing her throat. “At some point we couldn't take it anymore, so I opened the door and told Blaine to get the hell out of there and he basically just broke down. It was pathetic. He started crying and telling me this sobstory about how he had to move back to Lima because he was thrown out of NYADA-"

"Boohoo," Cassandra July added. "What did he expect? After I flunked him for Dance and Carmen did the same for Vocal Performance, he didn't even bother showing up for the rest of his critiques."

“Wait, Blaine’s out of NYADA? Like, _out_ out?” Kurt asked. He had been so busy with his own exams and the musical that he hadn’t heard anything about that yet.

“Out as in _so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight_ ,” Cassandra said gleefully. “And good riddance to him.”

“I think his plan with the serenade was to convince you to come back to Lima with him,” Santana said. “A fresh start or something. He mentioned having a one-way ticket for you.”

“More like a _no-way_ ticket,” Cassandra added.

“What did you tell him?” Kurt asked quietly.

“I said I didn’t know where you were, but that you were a single, attractive gay male in New York at New Year’s Eve so you were probably getting some, and that he should take his ragtag band of Lima Losers back to the land of Buckeye Chuck and stay there. I think he took it badly,” Santana said.

Kurt sighed. He knew he had dodged a bullet by not being home tonight, but just the thought of Blaine trying to win him over with yet another song after everything that had happened...it was too much.

“Okay. Uh. Thanks for telling me, I guess,” Kurt said.

Suddenly, he heard shouting and cheering from inside. It was the New Year. His phone started buzzing in his hand with messages coming in.

Santana’s side of the line was almost quiet. Knowing what they were most likely doing didn’t make Kurt feel any better.

"Hello?" he asked irritatedly.

"Sorry, so maybe our vibe isn't completely killed," Santana said, sounding a little out of breath. “Happy new year, Kurt.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Kurt hung up and realized he had forgotten to tell her (again) to stay off his bed.

 

*

 

The door opened. “Happy New Year!” Elliott said cheerfully, throwing his arms around Kurt and giving him a tight hug. “I love you, man,” he said, a little throatily.

Kurt hugged him back. “Yeah, me too,” he said, not sure what else to say. Kissing him now seemed out of place. Maybe it hadn’t even been the right idea to begin with. It had worked for Blaine -in a way- but did he really want to start their relationship like that? By kissing someone who wasn’t expecting it and forcing his feelings onto him that way?

“Who was that on the phone?” Elliott asked, and Kurt was pulled back from his thoughts.

“Santana. Apparently Blaine showed up at my place to ask me to go back to Lima with him.”

“Huh?”

“He dropped out of NYADA.”

“Not him too? What’s with you guys? First three students out of twenty in the entire country are from the same state, then two _quit_?”

“I know.”

Then Elliott cocked his head. “Wait. What was Santana doing at your place?”

Kurt groaned. “Having sex with my NYADA dance teacher. Probably somewhere on my vintage furniture.”

Elliott shook his head. “ Sometimes I think you are the only sane one in your clique.”

Kurt smiled a bit, genuinely this time. “To be fair, Miss July is very fit for her age. Killer abs.”

“Like yours,” Elliott stated and waggled his eyebrows.

“Right.” Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I hereby decree that this is the year you stop putting yourself down,” Elliott said, raising his chin and giving Kurt a mock-arrogant look. Kurt couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll try,” he promised. “Let’s get back inside. I want to give Santana plenty of time to clean up after herself before I go home.”  
  
Elliott nodded and led the way. On his way back to the music, Kurt tried to let go of his disappointment. There was still the Winter Showcase, after all, and this whole plan had been an impromptu one anyway. He had come here to have a good time with his friends and there was no reason he couldn’t still have that - even if he was looking at a day of disinfecting his furniture in the morning. And maybe he could give the New Year a few more days to settle before he added that gorgeous older lover to his list of achievements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I did my re-watching research for this fic, I focused on the scenes with Kurt & Elliott. I completely left out the '100' episode because there was no NY in it- and thereby missed that it brought Santana and Brittany back together. Sorry- in this AU, Santana is clearly still single.


	21. Chapter 21

21\. **KURT**

Unlike previous years, this year’s Winter Showcase took place in the first week of January instead of before Christmas. It suited Kurt fine, as it had given him time to finish his critiques without having to rehearse a new number on top, as well as the opportunity to accept the part in _Pinocchio_. Now, with critiques, the play and holidays out of the way, he could give the Showcase his full attention. Then again, his _full_ attention…?

He glanced at Elliott, who was looking amazing in his tuxedo, and felt butterflies whirl in his stomach. Elliott turned to look at him and briefly covered Kurt’s hand with his own, squeezing it. He probably assumed Kurt was nervous - which he was, but not for the competition.

Kurt smiled at him, his lips pressed firmly together. He had chosen his own suit with care as well. After all, this was the night that would go on replay in their minds every anniversary, in soft focus and slow motion - Elliott would see him wearing this outfit in his mind’s eye every time he’d think of the romantic night they finally got together, and Kurt wanted it to be perfect. (He remembered, in the smallest detail, every article of clothing he wore at every turning point in his life so far - a reason why he had tossed out the red jeans from the night Blaine told him he had cheated. Kurt couldn’t bear to part with the Givenchy shirt he had also worn that night, but hadn’t worn it again either). Maybe, for their first anniversary, they could find a nice theatre play or concert to go to wearing these suits - if he wasn’t performing on Broadway that night, of course. If that were to be the case, Elliott would wear his tux in the front row.

The conductor lead the orchestra into subtly fading their music into silence and the audience in the Round Room went quiet. Madame Tibideaux entered, giving the room an acknowledging nod.

Kurt forced his thoughts away from his future love life to pay attention to her. Everyone was in black tie, though Madame Tibideaux looked the same as ever; neither glamorous nor shabby. _Beyond dresscodes, clearly. Then again, it was her own event_ , Kurt mused.

She waited until the room was completely silent, then began her opening speech.

“Dear friends of the dramatic arts, dear sponsors, staff and students; welcome to the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts’ annual Winter Showcase, where you may get a glimpse of the next generation of Emmy, Tony, Golden Globe and Oscar winners,” she announced, with a proud twinkle in her eyes. The audience applauded politely, and Madame Tibideaux waited for them to quiet down.

“An academy is, by definition, a place of learning,” she continued. “But unlike our name suggests, here at NYADA, we do not to teach our students to sing, dance or act. They are already the best in their field when they are accepted to this school. We simply guide them towards achieving the very best of their potential. The students who are about to perform represent what NYADA stands for; talent and the willingness to benefit from our collective experience and hone their craft.”

Kurt couldn’t describe what it meant to him to hear her say that. Despite his roundabout way of getting accepted, he was accepted in the end, and now actually belonged to this group she called ‘the best in their field’. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d not only get accepted, but would be chosen to represent the school. He looked over at Elliott and found him gazing back, with something of a proud smile on his lips - once again confirming that he was better friend-material than Rachel or Blaine ever were. Pride and envy would have gotten in the way of their rejoicing in his success; not so with Elliott. Kurt knew he was genuinely pleased of the recognition Kurt was getting.

Kurt was so lost in his thoughts, that he almost missed his own introduction.

“  - a remarkable young man who made his debut at the last Winter Showcase, before he was even officially a student here. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: Kurt Hummel.”

Applause swelled and Kurt quickly rose from his seat, nodding at the people he passed in greeting as he made his way to the stage. He went to the microphone stand, adjusted it, and took a deep breath.

“Good evening. My name is Kurt Hummel, and I shall be singing[ a Sondheim song](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DLFgngL8gIqc&t=OWE3NjVmMTdjNDFhY2U5Yjg0ZjMwNzBlZGJiNTQzNTQ0NjllMDY5NixLdnRYYml6aw%3D%3D),” he announced. He gave the pianist a small nod. The introduction played, and Kurt looked out over his audience, easily finding his own empty seat and his best friend next to it. He briefly met Elliott’s eyes. Elliott was looking excited and gave him two thumbs up. The corners of Kurt’s lips curled up, but then he lowered his eyes to concentrate. Now was not the time to get distracted and forget the lyrics. This was a serenade; but it was also a performance and a competition.

When he raised his head again, he was in full performance mode.

“ _The sun comes up  - I think about you_ ,” he sang slowly, gazing out over his audience. He gave them a shy smile, like he was about to admit something slightly embarrassing. “ _The coffee cup - I think about you…_ ”

Kurt closed his eyes as he concentrated on the delicate, drawn out words that came next. _“I love you so…it’s like I’m losing my mind.”_

Kurt opened his eyes again. _“The morning ends - I think about you.”_ He nodded a little, as if resigning to his fate, _“I talk to friends - I think about you. And do they know? It’s like I’m losing my mind!”_

He slowly raised his voice as he went into the next part, trying to describe the urgency of his longing.

_“All afternoon, doing every little chore, the thought of you stays bright. Sometimes I stand, in the middle of the floor -”_ Kurt allowed himself a small hand gesture to the left side of the audience, _“not going left -”_ he repeated the same to the right, _“not going right…”_

He dropped his hands and offered the audience a selfconscious smile. _“I dim the lights   - and think about you… Spend sleepless nights   - to think about you…”_

Kurt couldn’t help but find Elliott’s eyes as he thought of New Year’s Eve. _“You said you loved me. Or were you just -”_ he shrugged helplessly, _“being kind?”_

He leaned in, hunching his shoulders a little and resting the tips of his fingers delicately on the stand just below the microphone. _“Or am I losing my mind?”_

Kurt let go of the microphone stand and took a few steps away from it during the musical interlude, shaking his head a little and looking pensive. Then, he walked back and looked up to face the audience again.

_“I want you so - it’s like I’m losing…my mind!”_ He drew out the last word, slowly raising his arms up dramatically as his voice grew louder and louder, resonating in the perfect accoustics of the Round Room, before letting his head fall back and running his fingers through the hair at his temples to cradle the back of his head, then letting them glide down the sides of his neck like a caress.

_“Does no one know?”_ he nearly whispered, balling his fists, _“it’s like I’m losing my mind?”_

The lyrics repeated, and Kurt gave it his all, showing his audience he had the volume and power to fill and enthrall a Broadway theatre with his voice, without a microphone should he ever need to. He returned to his quiet voice for the very last line, ending the song as tenderly as it had begun.

The last notes of the piano faded out softly, and suddenly the Round Room was filled with noise. Fabric rustled and metal scraped over wood as people rose to their feet and started to applaud. Kurt acknowledged them with a nervous bow of his head, feeling blood rush into his cheeks. It was over. His heart was out; he had laid everything out to see - and he felt a little frightened to look back into the audience at his friend. He ducked his head and hurried to the side of the stage, making way for Madame Tibideaux to announce the next student.

Several people patted his back as Kurt quietly made his way back to his seat, but he barely felt them. His heart was beating in his throat. Elliott was still standing when he arrived, offering him excited jazz hands and miming ‘wow’. Kurt smiled, feeling giddy. They couldn’t talk now, but what would happen during intermission…?

Three songs (and a thousand what-if scenarios in Kurt’s mind) later, Madame Tibideaux finally announced a twenty minute break, and people started rising from their seats to make their way to the standing tables to get themselves a refreshment.

*

**ELLIOTT**

If anyone had asked Elliott what the other three students after Kurt had performed, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He had sat there like in a dream, pretending to be interested in the show, while occasionally glancing at Kurt to watch his beautiful profile and the soft smile on his lips. Had he just been serenaded?

Kurt had looked directly at him several times during the song. Elliott had been unable to look away. He had felt drawn in, mesmerized by Kurt’s every single word and gesture, until the entire Round Room around him had disappeared in his peripheral view.

_I love you so…_

Was that really what Kurt was feeling? Elliott could hardly believe it. He wanted it to be true, but at the same time, he knew he had been witnessing Kurt at the top of his game, displaying his craft. This was musical theatre. He was _supposed_ to make his audience feel the song. He may have just picked Elliott to focus on to steady his nerves.

Madame Tibideaux finally released them from their seats, and Elliott turned to face Kurt.

“That was _amazing_! You blew me away. You were absolutely-” Elliott started, and Kurt looked at him expectantly, his lips parted a little in an eager smile.

“Breathtaking,” a deep voice behind them said. “But then, you always are.”

Kurt frowned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gasped. “Adam!”

Elliott turned as well and saw a tall, blond man in a tuxedo standing there, smiling at Kurt.

“Hello Kurt,” the man said, his accent unmistakingly British.

Things clicked in Elliott’s mind. Ah. _That_ Adam. He watched them hug and exchange air kisses, NYADA-style. So _that_ was where you put your hands. He didn’t fail to notice that they both lingered a little in the embrace before letting go. Somehow, whenever Kurt had talked about him, Elliott had imagined someone less buff and with bad teeth. Did he _have_ to be so handsome?

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in England!” Kurt let out.

“I was, but the new semester doesn’t start until next week and flights were relatively cheap, so when I heard you were doing the Winter Showcase again, well… I couldn’t resist. For old times’ sake, you know?”

Was Kurt blushing? Elliott wasn’t sure. In any case, Kurt looked genuinely glad to see his ex-boyfriend. Who had flown across the North Atlantic to see him perform.

“Who told you?” Kurt asked.

“Elly. Remember her, from the Apples? She’s with Light and Sound,” Adam nodded at the small crew in the back of the room. He smiled and leaned forward, lowering his voice a little. “I managed to sneak in as her assistant. I’m probably the most overdressed techie ever.” He winked.

Kurt grinned. Then he rolled his eyes and turned to Elliott. “Elliott, _this_ is Adam Crawford. Adam: Elliott Gilbert,” he introduced them. “Elliott is an amazing singer and musician and he’s in my band,” he added proudly, looking back at Adam.

“One Three Hill, right! I saw that video of your concert on youtube,” Adam said enthusiastically, offering Elliott his hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elliott. I really wish I could have made it to your gig, but I was stuck across the pond. New job and all. You sound brilliant, though. Your voice is amazing.”

“Thanks, man,” Eliott replied. He knew it was a waste of time trying to dislike this man. He was simply too charming, too polite - too damn British.

“So how’ve you been?” Kurt asked. “How’s your job at the school? How are your sisters? And…are you seeing anyone?” Kurt added the last with a little wink, clearly giving Adam the option not to answer that.

Adam grinned. “Um. It’s good. Challenging, but good. My sisters are fine, I’ll tell them you asked. And…yes, as a matter of fact, I sort of am. It’s rather fresh, actually. We only met about two weeks ago, at a Christmas party.”

Kurt gasped again. “Oh my god, is it that guy you friended on Facebook, who looks like that boy from the Brideshead Revisited movie?”

Adam blushed a little and nodded. “That’s him. His name is Danny. He’s, um- I really like him and he seems to like me, so…who knows.” He shrugged a little helplessly.

“I hope it works out. I really do,” Kurt said warmly, and Elliott relaxed a little.

“Elly told me you and Blaine…?” Adam asked carefully, and Kurt groaned.

“Yeah. What a trainwreck. I never should have taken him back in the first place.”

“Right. Well…I won’t disagree with you there,” Adam said quietly, his smile a little dimmed.

Elliott looked at Kurt, who seemed to have realized what he had said, and was also looking a bit pensive.

“So, did you hear Kurt starred in a Christmas matinée show?” Elliott asked in a light tone, hoping to help them out a little.

“No, I didn’t!” Adam replied gratefully. “What was it?”

“Pinocchio,” Kurt said, cocking his head a little and spreading his hands out with a shrug, as if to say ‘what else?’. It was a three-show only gig, but I did make a few contacts that might come in handy later.”

Adam smiled fondly, and Elliott knew the same smile was probably on his own face. It was hard not to be enchanted by Kurt’s humility.

“Good for you, Kurt. I never doubted you, you know,” Adam said. “If I had known, I would have tried to come and see it. Or send you a batch of break-a-leg biscuits at least.”

“I know. I should have written more. I’m sorry we sort of lost track -” Kurt started, but Adam waved it off with his hand.

“It’s fine, Kurt. I know how busy you are. And it’s my own fault for not using Facebook properly.” He turned to Elliott and gave him a slightly embarrassed look. “I only check in every now and then,” he explained. “I never know what to post. I’m not that interesting, really.”

“Not true,” Kurt said sternly. “You’re the third most interesting person from England I know.”

“Technically, you don’t _know_ William and Harry,” Adam reminded him, so that makes me _first_.” He struck a proud pose, chin raised.

Kurt chuckled. “You got me.”

Adam looked over Kurt’s shoulder and saw someone coming. His face fell a little. “I have to dash,” he said quickly. “Madame Tibideaux is headed this way, and she and I never really got along. She also probably knows I’m not _really_ with Light and Sound.”

“Right,” Kurt mumbled, “Um, thank you so much for coming. It was great seeing you!”

“The pleasure was all mine, Kurt,” Adam replied. “I hope you win.” He turned to Elliott. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Elliott replied, a little unprepared for the sudden end of their conversation. “Yeah, you too.”

“I’ll write,” Kurt promised. “And I can send you a _Pinocchio_ bootleg if you promise not to share it.”

Adam put a hand over his heart. “Not until you get your first Tony and I really, really need the money,” he said solemnly.

Kurt laughed again, and pressed his own hand to his heart to show how touched he was.

Adam shot both of them another smile and hurried off.

Elliott waited until he was out of earshot and then said: “So that was Adam.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, still looking in the direction his ex-boyfriend had left in. “That was Adam.”

“I like him. He makes you smile.”

“He makes _everyone_ smile,” Kurt agreed, turning back to Elliott. “I don’t think he can help himself.”

“Are you still-” Elliott started, but then Madame Tibideaux had arrived.

“Well, Mr. Hummel, that was _some_ performance,” she said, and Elliott frowned, not sure what to make of her tone.

“I think you had the audience wondering if you were singing from _Follies_ or giving us a look into your personal diary,” she added, and now she smiled a little. Elliott still wasn’t sure how she meant it. Madame Tibideaux’s smile was like a sphinx’s.

“Madame Tibideaux,” Kurt said, and _his_ tone, Elliott knew. It was his subtle _fuck-off_ voice, wrapped in politeness. “ _Everything_ I sing is personal. It is my job to take music personally. If the assignment was to sing the _Muppet Show_ theme, I would make the audience wonder if I was made out of felt.”

Elliott nearly laughed out loud at the surprised expression on Madame Tibideaux’s face. She recovered quickly, and there was a definite spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Maybe she hid a sense of humor somewhere in that turban.

It wasn’t until later, when Madame Tibideaux had whisked Kurt away to introduce him to some important sponsors of the arts, that Elliott realized what Kurt’s words meant, and his joy faded a little. _Oh._ Rejoiced too soon. It had all been a part of his presentation after all.

The rest of the evening, Elliott couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. For a few minutes, he had hoped that the moment had finally come. What now? Should he just go on waiting and hoping - or give up?

Kurt didn’t win, but as he had already explained to Elliott on their way there, he never expected to. A senior would get the title; someone they could take credit for as having groomed longer. If Kurt won now, he explained, it would look like he did it on pure talent. It would be a political decision not to let him win, and he didn’t mind. The invitation alone (and the networking opportunities it offered) was enough. Still, as the evening progressed, Kurt somehow got more and more subdued. As soon as the winner was announced, he told Elliott he was tired and wanted to go home.

“I still think you should have won,” Elliott offered as they got into their shared cab.

“Thanks, but you’re biased,” Kurt replied. He looked out of the window. “And I told you, I wouldn’t have won even if I was the best.”

“You are.”

Kurt let out a deep sigh. Then his cellphone buzzed. “Do you mind?” he asked, and Elliott shook his head. Kurt took out his phone, read the message, and started typing. “It’s Mercedes,” he said, still typing. “Just writing up a quick play-by-play.”

“That’s ok, take your time,” Elliott said, and he sat back in his seat, letting the evening play again in his mind.  
  
He couldn’t help but feel he’d messed up somehow. He tried to figure out when the mood had shifted. His heart sank a little when he realized it was around the time when Adam arrived.

Was it because Kurt had found out Adam was seeing someone new? Or because they had talked about Blaine? Was he blaming himself for everything that had happened again?

Elliott was torn between wanting to ask Kurt and letting it be. If they talked about it, he might be able to help Kurt get it off his chest, but at the same time, he was afraid that dragging it all up would make Kurt feel even worse. Why was nothing ever easy?

*

**KURT**

_Ms Jones: How did it go????? What did he say?_

_K. Hummel : Nothing much. I don’t think he noticed :((_  
  
Ms Jones: Plan B. TALK - TO - HIM!!!

_K. Hummel : Not tonight :( I’m not good at improv._

_Ms Jones: Life is not a play! You don’t need rehearsals to talk to your best friend :)_

Kurt stared at Mercedes’ text for several blocks. All the while, Elliott was quiet next to him. Kurt looked over at him, checking if he was asleep, but he wasn’t. He also seemed lost in his own thoughts. Months ago, before all of this confusion, Kurt would have just asked him what he was thinking, but the reply ‘nothing, you?’ was one he didn’t want to answer right now.

Kurt knew Mercedes was right. He should just talk to Elliott about how he felt, fumbling words be damned. But for days he’d been fantasizing about this perfect romantic movie ending, where Elliott would hear the song and everything would make sense and he’d fall into Kurt’s arms without words, _Moulin Rouge_ style, raining rose petals and applause and all.

_So stupid_ , he cursed himself. _After everything you’ve gone through with Blaine, you should know better by now. Movie endings aren’t for you._

The disappointment and bitterness of his realization nearly brought tears to Kurt’s eyes. He’d get over this, as always; brush it off and take the rational approach - which was talking to Elliott, and accept possible rejection - but not tonight. He’d let himself have one more night to mourn his romantic streak.

*

**ELLIOTT**

“Shall I walk you up?” Elliott offered as the cab halted in front of Kurt’s place.

Kurt shook his head. “Nah, you don’t need to run up the tab,” he said, and quickly brushed his cheek against Elliott’s in goodbye before getting out. Elliott watched him go. Kurt had already given Elliott more than his share for the fare, and Elliott knew an excuse when he heard it. Kurt wanted to be alone.

“I changed my mind,” he told the taxi driver. “I want to go somewhere else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful Glorfindel-m on tumblr for giving me several wonderful songs in Kurt’s range to choose from - I’m not a Broadway person but I wanted to get this right, so I called in reinforcements :)


	22. Chapter 22

**ELLIOTT**

The place was nearly empty when he walked in. Even at 1 am, or maybe especially then, there were still a few people waiting. Elliott supposed the after-dark hours were more lucrative than the daytime slot, at the tattoo parlor.

“Is Luis in the back?” he asked the girl at the counter, who was watering the bamboo stalks.

“What?” she said, pulling out her earbuds.

Elliott repeated himself, and she nodded at the metal curtain. “Where else would he be?” she asked, shrugging, and put her earbuds back in.

Elliott waited until she turned her back, and then walked through, counting on his instinct that she wasn’t going to stop him anyway. He was right. At the curtain, he nearly bumped into a large woman with her neck covered in saran wrap. The fresh tattoo under it spelled her favorite F-word in angry, swollen letters. She glared at him until he stepped aside. “Ladies first,” he mumbled, but refrained from commenting on her new ink. That was definitely her business, not his.

“Elliott,” Luis said in surprise, looking up from his tools. “I didn’t see you in the front. What can I do for you?”

Elliott took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I was thinking this one could use a refresh,” he said, pointing at a tattoo on his chest.

“Sure, let’s have a look at it,” Luis said. He picked up a pair of new surgical gloves and pointed at the chair.

Elliott sat down on the leather chair and let out a deep sigh, looking away a little as Luis sat down in front of him and pulled up a bright operatory light. He felt Luis’ fingertips on his skin, the touch slightly foreign through the latex, and anticipated what the man was about to say next.

“So what do you want me to do about it? It looks fine.”

“Are you sure?” Elliott argued. “I figured the colors are looking a bit-” he broke off and looked at Luis’ frowning face as the man switched off the light.

“I’m sorry,” Elliott said. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

When Luis made no move to stop him or throw him out, he continued. “It’s Kurt. You know, my friend, we came in together last time?”

Now, Luis put up his hands. “Okay, listen up, kid. I like you, and I appreciate your custom. But I think you’re a little confused here. This-” he gestured around him, “is a tattoo parlor. It’s not a sleep-over. I’m here to ink, not to braid your hair and paint your nails while you talk to me about boys.”

“I know that,” Elliott replied. “And I can paint my own nails, thanks.” He curled his fingers into his palms, feeling the slightly rough surface of the silver glitter coat he put on for Kurt’s showcase. “It’s not like that. Not really.”

“Good. Because I get enough of that at home.” Luis showed Elliott a tattoo of a baby girl’s face on the inside of his forearm. “Do you remember her?”

Elliott nodded. Luis had told him a little about his daughter during his sessions.

“She’s fourteen now, and I swear to god, she bottles up all that shit until I get her on the weekends and then it just comes _pouring_ out.” He shook his head a little. “Then again, I should probably be grateful she comes to me with it. What’s the advice of my ex-wife gonna be like, right? She has a bad taste in men.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged, pointing at himself with a ‘what can you do?’ gesture.

  
Elliott chuckled a little. He knew most people wouldn’t put Luis down as a caring father based on his looks, but from what Luis had told him, he really went all out for her.

“So. Let’s hear it,” Luis said, and he pulled a tray of used equipment towards him, and started to sort it into ‘trash’ and ‘disinfect’ piles.

“Well, he’s my best friend, and I like him,” Elliott started carefully, and quickly continued as Luis raised his eyebrows at him warningly, “but that’s not the problem. The problem is that his previous relationship was so… messed up, that I’m not sure, if I make a move, he won’t just…go with it even if it’s not really what he wants.”

Luis stopped his sorting. “Messed up, how?” he asked.

Elliott bit his lip. He knew nothing he could say would surprise Luis, but he felt bad talking about Kurt’s love life so candidly without his permission.

“It’s not my story to tell, but suffice to say it was pretty toxic. I didn’t really find out how bad it was until afterwards. And on top of everything he already went through when he was younger…” He trailed off. “I’m afraid it warped Kurt’s perception of what’s romantic and what’s abusive.”  
  
Luis nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, if he’s your best friend, don’t you think he knows you wouldn’t take advantage of him?” he suggested.

“Not after the shit his other so-called ‘best friends’ pulled,” Elliott said somberly. “Their friendship always came with a price tag. I don’t want him to feel like he owed me something just because I am nice to him.”

“So you’re not afraid of rejection- but of _not_ being rejected?” Luis said, frowning.

“It sounds strange when you put it like that. But yeah. And to make it more difficult, our mutual friends keep telling me I should get a move on before he’s snatched up by someone else-”

“Someone who might not have your qualms about taking advantage-” Luis supplied.

“Yeah. I just don’t know how. I tried waiting for him to make the first move, and there were a few times when I thought he was giving me signals, but-” Elliott shrugged frustratedly. “I just suck at this. I’ve only been in a few relationships before, and they basically all started with a hook-up. And I know I can’t just spring a kiss on him. There’s…history. But I can’t sit around and wait for something to happen anymore either.”

Luis shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Look, like I said- I like you, but to tell you the truth: I don’t understand what your problem is. It doesn’t have to be so ‘all or nothing’. Just talk to him. Tell him exactly what you just told me, and let him be the judge of the situation. You’re basically saying you don’t trust him enough to think for himself,” Luis said.

“Well, no-” Elliott objected, but then frowned. Wasn’t that exactly what he was saying?

“You know, if I have learned one thing in my time here, doing what I do for people who come in with their heart on their sleeve-” Luis continued, nodding at the tattoo that covered Elliott’s scar, “it’s this: people who’ve had their boundaries crossed, or ignored, or taken away, don’t want _you_ to redefine those boundaries. They want the agency to do that themselves. Ask Kurt what _he_ wants. Give him back control over his own life. Trust him to tell you whether it’s ok to kiss him or not.”

Elliott stared at him for a moment. “You’re right. I should have figured that out myself,” he mumbled.

Luis shrugged. “You live, you learn.” He checked his watch and glanced at the front room. “Want me to pick up the shading on your sleeve a little? Give you a little buzz high?”

Elliott smiled and let out a sigh. Somehow, Luis knew exactly what he needed.


	23. Chapter 23

**KURT**

Kurt stood in front of Elliott’s apartment, guitar bag strapped to his back, and took a deep breath. He hadn’t told Mercedes he was going to see Elliott, hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say (much), and he had tried not to overthink his wardrobe. It was going to have to be enough - if Elliott didn’t want him when he was tongue-tied and flustered, it wasn’t meant to be between them. Kurt had tried to be someone else for Blaine, and as a result had changed more than he wanted to. It hadn’t been enough.

“No more acting,” he whispered to himself, and knocked.

Elliott opened the door. Kurt noticed he was wearing the short-sleeved patterned shirt they had gotten together on their business make-over shopping day. _Fitting_ , Kurt thought, before berating himself for trying to find another Leitmotiv in his mental screenplay.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Elliott said with a smile.

Kurt smiled back. “Where else would I be?” He stepped inside and let his guitar bag slide off his shoulder.

Elliott shrugged. “I don’t know. With your other, much hotter guitar teacher?” he suggested playfully.

“Nah, he was busy today. Besides, he’s too expensive,” Kurt quipped, and stuck out his tongue.

Elliott chuckled and walked to the kitchen to get them some coffee. He brought back two large mugs, giving Kurt the one he always used when he came over in the mornings, already cloudy with skimmed milk. Kurt knew without tasting it that it was exactly how he wanted it.

“Before we start,” Elliott announced, “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh! Me too,” Kurt said, taken by surprise. He had just been trying to get himself to start exactly the same way.

“Really? Uh, do you want to go first?” Elliott offered, sounding as surprised as Kurt felt.

“If that’s ok?” Kurt asked gratefully. Elliott nodded, and Kurt let out a little breath of relief. If he stalled this moment even longer, he might never do it, so it had to be now.

“Okay,” he started, putting down his mug and trapping his hands between his knees, “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Right,” Elliott confirmed, looking a little worried.

“And I don’t want that to change by what I have to tell you. No matter what, I want us to still have this-” he nodded at their guitars and their coffee mugs. “Even if what I tell you will completely put you off-”

“Kurt, please just tell me. You’re killing me here,” Elliott said, now sounding very worried.

“Okay. Um. I’m in love with you,” Kurt blurted out, and braced himself.

“What?” Elliott asked.

Kurt immediately went into damage-control mode. “I know that when we first met, we agreed that we could be friends without hooking up, and that was fine while I was engaged-” he explained. “But after I broke up with Blaine I began to realize that I am actually really attracted to you. I _tried_ to get over it, but it was-” Kurt broke off and shook his head a little, “kind of a lost cause.”

Elliott stared at him, his lips slightly parted, and Kurt continued quickly before he lost his courage.

“You’re the first person I think of in the morning and the last before I go to bed. You’re talented, you’re funny, you’re modest, you’re down-to-earth. You know me better than anyone else. You probably don’t even know you’re doing it, but you’re already a better boyfriend to me than Blaine ever was without actually being my boyfriend. You treat me like your equal, or god knows why, sometimes even put me on a pedestal-”

“ _Hey_ ,” Elliott started, but Kurt held up his hand to stop him.

“You like many of the things I like, and don’t make fun of the things I like that you don’t. You make me smile. You make me feel safe. You’re the person I know I can call when things go wrong - and when they go right.”

Elliott looked like he was about to interrupt again, but Kurt needed to finish or he might never get through this.

“You’re _also_ incredibly sexy, and for the past weeks I’ve secretly been hoping that you’d catch one of the many hints I was putting out there and just-” Kurt broke off and sighed.

“Just what?” Elliott asked curiously.

Kurt bit his lip. “I don’t know. Kiss me? Sweep me off my feet? Throw me onto your bed and make me see stars? I had several scenarios thought out, some more PG than others.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows and glanced over his shoulder at his bedroom. “ _Throw you onto my bed_?” he echoed, sounding amazed.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be the bed. A lot of my fantasies involved this couch, actually,” Kurt joked nervously. His heart was beating rapidly. _Please say something_ , he begged silently.

Elliott’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

“Oh god, you think I’m a creep, right?” Kurt asked, a little horrified.

Elliott shook his head. “No! No, not at all. I’m just… surprised. I didn’t know that was what you wanted.”

“Me neither, until I did,” Kurt replied, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry if this is too much. Like I said, I really don’t want to our friendship to change. I just wanted you to know that I’d- I’d-” he struggled a little to get the words out. He had never really said the words - never had to. With Blaine, they were just suddenly a couple after the kiss without ever talking about it, and with Adam, everything was already over before it had really begun.

“That I’d be your boyfriend, if you want me to be,” Kurt finally managed to say. “Just… think about it. You don’t have to tell me now.” He let out a deep breath and smiled. “Okay. That was it. What did _you_ want to tell me?”

“I’m in love with you, too,” Elliott said.

“Huh?” Kurt blinked rapidly a few times.

Elliott pressed his lips together and nodded. “I had a longer speech prepared, but you kind of stole my thunder.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, like you, I _thought_ I was fine with being your, uh- platonic friend when you were with Blaine, but once you were single, our mutual friends made me see that I may have just been kidding myself with that. You’re...really kind of hard to resist.”

Kurt frowned. “So why did you?”

“Because! You’re my best friend, Kurt. I know what you’ve been through, or at least the parts you told me about, and I was afraid-”

Kurt’s heart sank. Elliott had stopped himself because of Kurt’s history? “You think I’m damaged goods?” he concluded, unable to stop his voice from wavering.

“No!” Elliott replied immediately, but the guilty expression that briefly flew over his features made Kurt’s wards come up.

“You _do_ , don’t you?” he demanded. It was one thing for himself to sometimes feel that way, but he hadn’t survived this long to be pitied by others.

“I don’t!” Elliott said firmly. “I just meant I was afraid that letting you know how I felt while you were still getting over Blaine would put pressure on you, and you might do something you’d regret later.”

Kurt scoffed. “So, what? You thought you were protecting me, from myself? I am not some delicate flower, Elliott. I don’t need protection. I have been fending for myself since I was eight years old.” He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin defiantly.

Elliott looked very contrite. “I know that. I’m sorry. I got it wrong, okay?” He ran his fingers over the pattern on his shirt by the chest pocket, smiling crookedly as he thought of something Kurt wasn’t privy to. “I went to see a friend last night after the showcase,” he said. “That helped me understand a lot. All this time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but as it turns out, I was just being a patronising jerk.”

Kurt melt his anger melt a little. “Maybe not a jerk. How about a patronising friend?”

Elliott offered him a small smile. “That does sound a lot better.”

Kurt sighed. “I know you had good intentions. But I need to make my own mistakes. Like taking Blaine back after he cheated. That was a mistake and I dealt with it. Eventually. And I think I’m a better person because of it.”

Elliott nodded. “I guess I was also a bit afraid I’d end up being your rebound if I asked you out too soon,” he admitted. “So I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

Kurt shook his head incredulously. “I was waiting for _you_ to make the first move.” He smiled wryly. “After constantly being told to stop being ‘predatory’ when I was a teenage boy just trying to figure out how to approach the guys I was interested in, I kind of stopped trying altogether. Waiting and pining was safer, for everyone involved.”

It was a tactic he had kept up in New York as well. He hadn’t asked Adam out until he was very sure the other man had been flirting with him (asking Rachel and Mercedes for advice just to be sure he wasn’t imagining it), and he wouldn’t have hooked up with Tim, Nicholas or Walter if _they_ hadn’t given him their number first.

Elliott nodded a few times, biting his lower lip. “Pining, huh?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” Elliott replied. The corners of his lips curled up a little and he gave Kurt a shy smile. They looked at each other for a moment. Then Elliott spoke again.

“So that song last night, was that…?”

Kurt sighed. “That was me trying to make the magic happen. It was supposed to be our _Come What May_.” He shook his head. “It was childish.”

“Naw. It was romantic. I was just about to tell you so, when Adam showed up. And then you told your teacher it was all part of the act...”

Kurt frowned. “Of course I did. What was I supposed to tell her? That I had just used her PR prestige platform to serenade my crush?”

Elliott smirked. “I guess not.”

“I am a little disappointed you didn’t see through that,” Kurt said, sharing in the smile. “After all the love songs I asked you to teach me on the guitar, all the late nights I spent here on your couch hoping you’d ask me to stay…”

“I guess we both need to work on our communication skills,” Elliott said.

“Now there’s an understatement,” Kurt replied drily. Then he thought a bit more about what Elliott had said.

“So...this friend you talked to. What did they say, exactly?”

Elliott shook his head. “He told me, in no unclear terms, to pull my head out of my ass and talk to you already.”

Kurt snorted. “Nice. Tough love, huh?”

“Yeah,” Elliott agreed, chuckling. “But I think I needed to hear that.”

Kurt smiled. “Mercedes more or less told me the same thing. She was just a little gentler about it.”

“You don’t want to know what Santana and Dani had to say about it,” Elliott said. “I eventually got them to drop the constant hints because it was really distracting me during our rehearsals.”

“So _that’s_ what that was?” Kurt replied. “I never did understand why Santana kept asking me about my love life. I thought she was just doing it to make me uncomfortable.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

Kurt shook his head. “It’s fine. She’s done worse. I guess, in her way, she was trying to help.”

Elliott shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how your friendship works.”

“Me neither,” Kurt shrugged.

Elliott looked at him for a moment in silence. Then, he seemed to make up his mind.

“Kurt, can I kiss you?”

For a moment, Kurt was confused. No one had ever asked him that. Kisses _happened_. Hadn’t he just told Elliott he was in love with him? Wasn’t his consent implicit? Then again, after all the missed cues and bad communication, maybe asking was a good thing, even if it sounded awkward. Elliott was taking no chances.

“Yes,” Kurt said clearly.

Elliott beamed and leaned forward. He looked so genuinely pleased that Kurt couldn’t help but grin back, like they were both sharing a funny joke. Then their lips touched and Kurt closed his eyes. Elliott’s kiss was soft and a little careful, like he was testing for a response.

Finally assured that his feelings were really being reciprocated, Kurt let go of his inhibitions and kissed back eagerly, scooting closer on the couch. He ran his hand through the hair on the back of Elliott’s head - oh, that gorgeous, product-free hair! - and held him close, opening his lips invitingly. He felt Elliott’s arms wind around him and he wanted more; much, much more of that. Kurt tightened his hand in Elliott’s hair and grabbed Elliott’s bicep with his other hand to pull him along as he leaned back to lie down on the couch - only to have Elliott break the kiss with a pained grunt and pull away.

“What did I do?” Kurt asked anxiously. “Was it too much? Am I-”

Elliott shook his head quickly. “No, no, it’s not you.” He pushed up his sleeve and showed Kurt his tattoo, skin shiny with some kind of lotion. “I had my tattoo refreshed last night. It’s still a little tender.”

“Last night?” Kurt frowned. “ _After_ the showcase?” He paused for a moment. “Wait. _Luis_ was the friend you talked to about us?”

Elliott smiled shyly. “Yeah. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t tell him anything personal about you.”

Kurt wasn’t sure what to think. In the end, he was glad that Elliott had received some good advice, but it did feel a bit weird knowing it come from someone who’d tattooed him. “He doesn’t seem like the type,” Kurt finally said.

“Oh, he’s not,” Elliott agreed. “But he’s a good friend.”

“So now I owe him _two_ thank-you cards,” Kurt said.

Elliott grinned. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it far more if you went to him for your next tatt.”

“Oh, I’m complete,” Kurt said quickly. “One is enough.”

Elliott lowered his head and gave him a lidded look. “You say that now, but you’ll be back. One is never enough. Once you get started…”

“You make it sound like a drug,” Kurt replied.

“It kinda is,” Elliott agreed. “It’s definitely addictive.”

“We’ll see,” Kurt said noncommittally. If he was completely honest to himself, the whole process of getting a tattoo- once he got over his nerves- had been very sexy. But was that because of the ink, or because Elliott had been with him? His presence (especially looking at Kurt like he had) was certainly addictive. Kurt decided to steer them to a more neutral topic to take some of the tension off. Since this wasn’t one of his hook-ups, they had more than one date to get to all the things he’d fantasized about.

“So, how about my guitar lesson, then?” he suggested coyly.

Elliott smiled. “I know just the song.”

When Elliott picked up his guitar and launched into an acoustic version of Queen’s _I Was Born to Love You_ , Kurt just smiled and left his guitar in his case. After years of Glee club, he knew a serenade when he heard one. And here, in the privacy of Elliott’s apartment, he could enjoy it without having to worry about having the appropriate facial expressions or emotions to please his audience.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mature rating is specifically for this chapter.

**KURT**

Kurt had just finished applying after-shave moisturizer on his chest when someone pounded on the loft door, loudly. At first, he thought about ignoring it, but when it became even more insistent, he gave up. He threw on a robe, leaving it hanging open to avoid lotion stains, and went to see what was going on. The building might be on fire, after all. Or worse- it might be Blaine. In that case, he was filing for a restraining order.

When he pushed open the door, Santana was standing on the other side.

“Why are you knocking my door in?” Kurt asked.

“I had to. You changed your locks.” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a deliberate once-over.

Kurt didn’t cover up. Whatever she had to say, it wasn’t worth soaking his silk robe in detergents overnight.

“Ooooh, _manscaping_. Is Elliott finally getting lucky tonight?”

Kurt briefly closed his eyes and then started to push the door closed again. Santana quickly put her hand on the side to stop him.

“What are you doing here, Santana?” Kurt repeated, exasperatedly.

Santana shrugged. “I was in the neighbourhood,” she said airily, but her look told Kurt otherwise.There was more coming, but if she didn’t come straight out with it, it was probably a sensitive subject.

Kurt sighed and stepped away from the door, letting her in.

Santana walked in and looked around. Several outfits were draped over Kurt’s bed, and the door to the small bathroom was still open. Warm, bodywash-scented air was wafting out. She smirked.

“Yep, something wanky is going down tonight,” Santana said to herself, nodding knowingly. “I remember this grooming ritual from the weekends when Blaine would come over.” She glanced over at him. “I have to say, I was surprised you and Elliott didn’t seal the deal weeks ago.”

Kurt opened his mouth to say something but Santana held up a well-manicured finger.

“Don’t argue, I know what’s going on. And what’s _not_ going on. And it’s not even my Mexican third-eye here. It’s been forever and Dani said the two of you haven’t so much as skipped a band-practise to make out. I asked Elliott if you’d done it yet, and he said it was none of my business. So that totally means no. He looked kind of frustrated though; you shouldn’t leave him hanging like that, Kurt. He might decide to-”

“No.” Kurt cut her off strongly. “Don’t say another word. _Ah-ah!_ I mean it,” he added as Santana looked like she was going to protest. She pressed her lips together tightly.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Kurt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, actually, I do.” He pointed his finger at her. “First: don’t ever mention Blaine in any comparison to Elliott ever again. Ever.”

“Not even if it’s rude and hilarious?” Santana interjected.

“Not even then. I don’t want to hear it. You’re a smart woman. I am sure you can think of something equally rude and hilarious about someone else.”

Santana shrugged and nodded, clearly agreeing.

“Second: our sexlife really is none of your business. If you’re bored, you can watch reality tv like everyone else. I know you and Dani helped to get us together, but we’re not your pet project, okay? We’re people.”

Santana looked a little sour at that, but didn’t argue.

“Third: if Elliott looked frustrated, it was because of _you_ and your indiscreet questions. I am not leaving anyone ‘hanging’. We both have jobs, college, the band. The reason we haven’t skipped any of that is because we take it seriously. And if that means taking it slow because our days are long and we need our sleep at night, so be it.” Kurt took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself. He knew Santana wouldn’t understand. But unlike in the past, where a lack of physical intimacy made Kurt doubt his partner’s feelings, he knew he and Elliott were solid. He wasn’t about to let her or anyone else undermine that.

“Finally: I resent your implication that he might stray if we don’t have sex. Not every guy is like that.”   

Santana shrugged.

“Not every woman is, either,” Kurt added pointedly.

Santana held up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Hey, I don’t need the PSA, okay? I never have to worry about that, because I always put out on the first date.”

Kurt just rolled his eyes. They’d never be on the same page when it came to that. Santana wore her sexual prowess like a badge of honor- which was her business and her right, but he’d just wish she’d stop trying to get him to do the same. So far, only Mercedes and Elliott knew about his one-night stands, and he intended to keep it that way. He wasn’t ashamed, but he didn’t want to brag either.

Elliott’s reaction to his story had been an appropriate mixture of understanding and jealousy, and very unlike the way Blaine had tried to shame him for moving on with Adam after their break-up. Elliott’s maturity and dating experience had made all the difference, and Kurt didn’t regret telling him about it. Elliott had told him a little about his own dating past as well, and putting into words what they thought had worked, and hadn’t worked in those past relationships could only be beneficial for their own.

”So, I was just about to-” Kurt started, pointing at the open door of the bathroom.

“We’re running out of places to fuck,” Santana cut him off, as she made her way to his fridge.

“Excuse me?”

“Cassie and me. So far we’ve mostly been doing it at NYADA-”

Kurt scrunched up his face, but Santana ignored him and continued.

“But we can only bribe the janitor to turn a blind eye so many times before he starts setting up webcams in the dance room to get in on the action, you know? And my place is basically a broom closet, plus I have the most annoyingly straight roommates ever, which is enough to throw _anyone_ off their game…” Santana took a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and took a large sip.

“How about Ms July’s place?” Kurt suggested.

Santana lowered the bottle and rolled her eyes. “Her cat _hates_ me.” Then, before Kurt could say anything, she narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare make a pussy joke.”

Kurt let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it!” He made a mental note to text all of the jokes that had just shot into his mind to Elliott later to let off steam.

“Don’t smirk. This is a serious problem. If we can only meet in public places sooner or later we’re going to be arrested.”

Kurt shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Santana. Appease her…cat, work out a schedule with your roommates…find a new place?” Quietly, Kurt wondered when and where he had become Santana’s go-to problem-solver (slash food bank). Probably around the time he stopped complaining to Rachel for doing the same. It did kind of put the welcome mat out there.

“You can finish that,” he suggested, pointing at the orange juice. “I don’t need it anymore.”

He considered his next move carefully. “You know,” he started, “I was thinking of having real walls put up in this place and renting out rooms again…I already have one potential tenant, but Rachel’s corner is still available.” He’d definitely establish a few new rules, though. And soundproofing.

Santana put the juice down and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the potential?” she asked critically.

Kurt shrugged a little awkwardly. “Well, Elliott’s place is more of a single’s pad and my place is a lot bigger…” he trailed off.

“You’re moving in together?!”

Kurt wasn’t sure what to make of her tone. A mixture of surprise and disgust, possibly. “ _Thinking about_ moving in together,” he corrected.

“ _That’s_ taking it slow?” Santana asked.

Kurt shrugged self-consciously. “It’s better than getting engaged,” he replied. “I mean, it’d be a try-out to see if we’d work out on a day-to-day basis. If we do, we’ll probably look for a place without roommates, but until we figure out if we can live together without fighting about trivial stuff…” He frowned. “Blaine and I certainly needed that reality check.”

“So you want to hold on to this place just in case, got it,” Santana said, catching on.

“Exactly. I’ve known him for over a year, and we’ve been together for two months now- I think I know what I am getting into. It’s not that I don’t trust him or what we have, it’s just…when am I ever going to find another loft like this? I don’t want to give it up completely before I’m 100% sure.”

Santana nodded and looked around. “I won’t be able to pay much,” she said.

“Well, Rachel will need a place to stay after Broadway kicks her out,” Kurt joked. “If she comes crawling back, you could get a bunk bed.”

“Ha. Ha. No way,” Santana replied. Then she grew serious. “Thanks. I’ll think about it. Even though you two are disgustingly in love, it’d be better than the straights.”

Kurt nodded. “Now if you’ll excuse me…I need to heat up some wax.” He nodded at his groin.

Santana shivered exaggeratedly and moved toward the door. “I didn’t need that mental picture. I’m going.”

Kurt smiled. “Say hi to Ms July’s cat for me.”

***

_“Honestly, this dialogue…and why would anyone get a tattoo there?”_

_“Those aren’t even real sailors’ uniforms. They’re just crop tops with epaulettes.”_

_“Oh my god! Is that a hemorrhoid?”_

“Do you want to turn it off?” Elliott asked gently.

Kurt sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry. I thought it was going to be sexy, but apparently I still feel like a blushing sixteen year old when I try to watch porn.”

Elliott chuckled. “That’s ok. It wasn’t doing much for me either.” He looked at Kurt, sitting next to him on the couch. “Watching you, however…” he added.

Kurt rolled his eyes a little, but leaned over to kiss Elliott anyway. “Maybe we should just make up our own story to get in the mood…” he suggested.

“Hmmm. Yes,” Elliott replied, licking his lips. “You did say a lot of your fantasies involved this couch…” He trailed off and ran his tongue over the edge of his upper row of teeth.

“I did,” Kurt replied breathlessly, feeling his heart hammer in his throat.

“Do you want to tell me what that’s all about?”

Kurt let out a long breath. _Truth-time._ “It’s the leather.” He caressed the back of the couch with his long fingers. “It’s so classy. Classic, well-used but without looking dingy.”

“I take good care of it,” Elliott supplied.

“Mmm. I can tell.” Kurt trailed his hand down and toyed with a button. “I imagine I’m naked, lying down, the leather slowly warming under my skin…”

“Naked, huh?” Elliott asked eagerly, his eyes glittering.

Kurt cocked his head. “Well, sometimes I accessorize with a scarf or a hat.”

“And what am _I_ wearing in those scenarios?” Elliott asked.

Kurt gave him a long, hard stare. “A condom.”

He watched Elliott connect the dots in his mind, and was pleased when his words had the desired effect. Elliott looked like he had just been handed the key to the Vogue vaults.

Elliott cleared his throat. “I think we can do that,” he said hoarsely. “I mean, if you want-”

“I do.”

Elliott shifted closer and kissed Kurt passionately before excusing himself to get some supplies.

Kurt was starting to feel a little giddy, but he was definitely sure about what he wanted. Despite having gone into them for the wrong reasons, he was grateful he had gathered some experience with his one night stands. They had helped him figure out if his likes and dislikes were innately _his,_ or after-effects of his less-than-ideal sexlife with Blaine and other outside influences. It had taken a lot of un-learning of peer prejudices to come to terms with his own desires, but now he felt confident enough to communicate what he wanted without feeling ashamed.

When Elliott returned, Kurt had already taken off his shirt. Elliott smiled and followed suit, and Kurt feasted his eyes on the living canvas that was Elliott’s beautiful inked skin, and the way his muscles moved underneath as he came closer.

Elliott put a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms on the coffee table. “Can I help?” he asked, nodding at Kurt’s jeans.

Kurt nodded, trapping his lower lip between his teeth.

“Lay back,” Elliott encouraged him. With a smirk, he added, “enjoy the leather.”

Kurt chuckled and did as Elliott said. He gasped a little as his shoulders hit the cold leather by the armrest, but his lower back molded comfortably against the already warmed part of the couch where they had been sitting. It felt sexy, like they were already skin on skin- like he already had a lover beneath him while Elliott busied himself opening his belt.

Kurt’s eyes fell closed as Elliott’s lips latched onto his abs, just above the edge of his jeans. With each button that popped open, Elliott’s lips wandered further down, and Kurt couldn’t help but roll his hips. Apparently the move that came so naturally to him when he danced also translated into his baser body language. Elliott chuckled, and Kurt could feel the scruff of Elliott’s chin on the tender skin of his groin. It only increased his need to press his crotch closer to Elliott’s face, and Kurt let out a sigh of relief when Elliott succeeded in pulling his tight jeans down over his hips and buried his face against the straining cotton of his briefs. Elliott mouthed against the fabric, and Kurt felt his hot, wet tongue slowly soaking the cotton. He allowed himself a few moments just to _feel_. But when Elliott continued by rolling down his briefs as well and repeating the same open mouthed kiss on his skin, Kurt put a hand on Elliott’s shoulder, softly holding him back.

“I’m sorry,” Elliott said immediately, coming up and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of Kurt’s thighs. “That wasn’t part of your scenario?”

“No, it’s okay,” Kurt said quickly, not wanting Elliott to feel like he had done something wrong. “More than okay, actually. I’m just afraid I won’t last very long if you keep going like that.” He glanced at the condoms on the table.

Elliott followed his eyes and nodded. “Gotcha,” he said, and his smile returned. “Raincheck?” He licks his lips eagerly.

“Oh god, please, yes,” Kurt replied.

Elliott grinned. “Will do.”

Kurt sat up. He reached for his jeans and began peeling them off his legs. Meanwhile, Elliott began undressing as well. Kurt watched him with bated breath. As Kurt had finally freed himself from his jeans, he lay back on the couch again to better enjoy the view. He was unable to keep his hands away completely at the sight of his lover, but only touched himself lightly, not wanting to come too soon.

Elliott watched him in return, and Kurt felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He planted his feet on the couch and bit his lower lip as Elliott squeezed some lube onto his fingers and sat down next to him.

Kurt shifted his hips on the leather. “I kind of feel like we should get a towel,” he mumbled reluctantly.

Elliott shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, this is not oil,” he said, “and you wanted to feel the leather, right? The couch can handle a few stains.”

“Okay,” Kurt sighed, and closed his eyes. The leather wasn’t all he wanted to feel, and this was a good start. He could feel Elliott’s slippery fingers caressing him, and it was suddenly very easy to stop worrying about furniture.

Without opening his eyes, Kurt reached for the coffee table with one hand, blindly feeling his way to the lube. He flicked it open with his thumb, and squeezed some into his palm. He transferred it to the couch and briefly met Elliott’s hand to give it to him.

“Very dexterous,”  Elliott complimented.

“Hmm, you too,” Kurt replied, screwing his eyes a little tighter as Elliott pushed his fingers deeply into him. “I can’t remember…how many times…I fumbled with bottles like this…in the dark…trying not to give my roommates a free show,” Kurt confessed in between huffs of breath.

“Yeah?” Elliott asked, sounding a little distracted with what he was doing.

“Mmm…my bookcase isn’t exactly- _ah! -_ a discreet room divider…So when the girls were watching tv late at night, I couldn’t really…turn on the lights.” Kurt started undulating his hips again, moving against Elliott’s fingers to seek more friction. “I told you how they reacted to my boyfriend pillow…imagine what they’d have said– about my… _toys_.” The last came out on a whimper. Elliott had scissored his fingers widely inside of him. Kurt clenched his muscles tightly in response.

Elliott carefully retracted his hand to reach for a condom. He rolled it down and thrust into his own hand a few times, making sure of the fit.

Kurt watched hungrily, using his own, still slippery fingers to finger himself in the rhythm of Elliott’s pumping hand.

“You have no idea how hot that looks,” Elliott growled, letting go of himself and crawling up to him.

“Oh, I do,” Kurt replied, and added in a whisper: “You know that standing mirror next to my bed? I didn’t _always_ have the light off…”

“Oh my god,” Elliott sighed, kissing the side of Kurt’s neck. “Why are you only just telling me this now?”

“It never came up,” Kurt replied. He lifted his hips impatiently.

“Well, it’s definitely _up_ now,” Elliott said, and reached between their legs to guide himself into Kurt.

Kurt pushed his head back as far as he could, arching his back on the couch as if stretching himself longer would give Elliott more to fill. It felt amazing; the sensation and scent of the leather under him, Elliott’s weight on top of him, the blunt pressure of Elliott’s erection inside of him… He wrapped his legs high around Elliott’s body to reel him in, and Elliott grinned.

“Come on now,” Elliott said teasingly, “You’re in Miss July’s advanced class. You can do better than that.” He took hold of Kurt’s ankles and placed them on his shoulders. As he pushed forward, the muscles in the back of Kurt’s legs burned. There was a quip going around Kurt’s head about warm-ups versus foreplay, but it was driven out of his mind as Elliott’s hips slammed forward. Kurt’s hands flew up to grab the armrest of the couch and hold himself steady against Elliott’s thrusts. This time, he kept his eyes wide open to make sure Elliott wouldn’t suddenly change into Blaine like in his nightmares- _then again,_ Kurt mused, _I’d notice that with my eyes closed too. The scent of hairgel and his wheezing breath would be a dead giveaway. As would the lack of talent._

He smiled a little and Elliott smiled back, unwittingly sharing in the joke. Elliott jerked his own chin up briefly as if to ask: “yeah? this is good?” and Kurt nodded in return. Communication had gone nonverbal as Elliott’s movements became faster and more insistent.

Kurt’s climax was building, and he could tell Elliott was close, too. Kurt reached between their bodies to take hold of his erection, giving himself the final edge to wring out his orgasm. Elliott’s rhythm became erratic, finally just pushing in deep and holding still. Kurt came, swiveling his hips up against Elliott as he rode it out, and he heard Elliott’s breath catch before it came rushing out in a deep sigh.

They both held still as they caught their breaths. Then, Kurt crossed his ankles behind Elliott’s head and pulled him close for a kiss, nearly bending himself in half. He was definitely warmed up.

“You’re mine now,” Kurt declared cheekily.

“Hell yeah,” Elliott replied hoarsely, and kissed his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This took a lot longer than planned, and there are a few things to wrap up for ch 25, so I might take a while for that one too. I hope the wait was worth it? NC17 is not my forte, but I tried.


	25. Chapter 25

**25\. ELLIOTT**

**5 months later**

“Okay, everyone, quiet down,” Kurt announced as he rose from his chair with a glass of wine in his hand. Elliott, Santana, Dani, Mercedes, Isabelle Wright and Cassandra July all stopped talking. Elliott watched Kurt with a smile. He loved the way Kurt easily demanded - and got - the attention of his friends. He also loved Kurt’s rosy cheeks, the elegant way he held his glass, and his understated but incredibly sexy outfit. _Okay, admit it, you sap,_ he thought to himself, _you love everything about him._ That thought made him smile even more.

They had been living together for a few months now, and the feeling had only grown. They worked well together.

There had hardly been any discussion about the fusion of their households. Elliott’s leather couch was definitely a keeper. It matched Kurt’s leather car seat chair nicely, and with a few well-placed pillows, both pieces of furniture even managed to look innocently homely, belying the purpose they were mostly put to. They had sold Kurt’s bed because Elliott’s was slightly bigger and the large, leather-padded backpanel went well with the rest of the furniture, but had kept Kurt’s high thread-count sheets and bedding, seeing as he had only recently replaced those because Blaine had demanded so when he moved in. Also, Kurt’s standing mirror.

They had combined their workspaces by one of the large living room windows, making most of the natural light for their costuming and designing projects. The niches in the back wall had been turned into open shelves for sewing materials and utensils, and Kurt’s mannequin now wore a top hat and steampunk goggles. The floor tended to be covered in glitter and fabric dust, but since that could be from either of them, neither complained and they just took turns cleaning it up.

Elliott’s sparse knick-knacks and keepsakes had found their place between Kurt’s things, and they had used the open area between the bedrooms to store and display Elliot’s instruments. Kurt’s guitar had its own stand in the living room, because he’d often pick it up and practise in between band rehearsals as well.

Dani had also profited from their moving in together; after helping Elliott move his things to the loft, she had gone home with Blaine’s SodaStream, which he had left in the rush of the break-up and Kurt had never used, on principle alone.

Even Santana, who usually had a thing or two to pick on about everything, had admitted that the place looked great after they had finished plotting their new _chi_.

Living together took effort after the ‘honeymoon phase’ feel of the first few weeks, but it had been an effort they were both willing to make. With actual walls separating the bedrooms from the living room, it was easier to give each other space and retreat when one of them needed quiet, and the rest of the time it just took a few honest conversations, some apologies, and altered ways. _It probably helped that they had great make-up sex as well,_ Elliott mused. He shook his head to clear it as everyone at the dinner table quieted down. It would be hard to pay attention to Kurt’s speech once his mind went down that road and all he could think about was getting rid of their guests as soon as possible.

“Now, as you know,” Kurt said, “the big Move isn’t until next month, but since we’ll need to start boxing everything up soon, I wanted to invite you all for one last get-together in this place, in all its Starkurt glory-” Kurt gestured around the loft.

“Starkurtana,” Santana interrupted. “Some of this stuff is mine and it’s staying, alright?”

“Right,” Kurt agreed, raising his glass at her. “But still, I felt this was a good moment to reminisce about some of the unforgettable firsts that took place right here at the loft-”

“Wanky,” Santana interrupted, and Elliott could feel a blush rising in his cheeks. He was pretty sure the things that had just popped into his mind weren’t going to be part of Kurt’s speech.

Kurt looked unfazed, used to his friend’s insinuations. “This was my first very own apartment. Here,” he continued, “I set up base camp to conquer the scary world of internships, landing at Vogue.” He nodded at Isabelle, who beamed at him.

“Best intern _ever_ ,” she added. Kurt continued.

“Here, I first found out I was accepted into NYADA.

“I cooked my first perfect champagne soufflé right here, in this kitchen. Also here: my first Thanksgiving away from home, celebrated with my first, fabulous kiki.”

Isabelle hummed cheerfully.

“First Christmas in New York - Ah!” Kurt winced theatrically and rolled his eyes. “First - and hopefully last!-  make-out session slash heist by a part-time Santa, part-time burglar…”

“Good times,” Santana mumbled, sticking her nose into her glass.

“First band rehearsal of my own band…”

Dani and Elliott exchanged fond looks and struck hardrock poses, airguitaring and sticking out their tongues.

Kurt paused dramatically and looked down on his glass for a moment before looking up from under his eyelashes with a devious smile. “First post-break up celebratory booty call.”

A few of their mutual friends whooped and cheered. Elliott found himself among them, despite knowing he ought to feel jealous.

“ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere,” Santana added.

Kurt shook his head. “I just meant to say: I’ll never forget this place. It feels like this where I became an adult. I arrived with a suitcase full of teenage dreams, and I’ll be leaving with a box full of life experience. And a more realistic - but still grand! - plan for my future.” He turned to face Elliott. “ _Our_ future.

“Hear, hear,” Dani said, and the others mumbled their agreement.

Elliott felt his face glow. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. He wasn’t sure what else he could say that wouldn’t make him sound like a babbling, lovesick fool. He knew he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how much Kurt had changed, and for the better - all the more amazing it was that _he_ was the one now included in Kurt’s vision of his future. Whenever he thought about it, Elliott couldn’t help but feel proud.

Everyone gave the two of them fond looks and raised their glasses. Everyone but Santana.

“Now, wait a minute,” she said, rising from her seat, “we’re not done.”

Everyone turned to her. Elliott half-expected something rude about Santana’s soon to be former roommate, but tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Santana glanced at Cassandra. “I have an announcement as well.”

Cassandra nodded. Elliott got chills as he realized he knew what Santana was going to say.

“Cassie will be moving in with me,” Santana said, and Elliott quietly nodded to himself, pleased for them.

“I’ve loved this place since I first set foot in it,” Cassandra chimed in. “I thought nothing could beat Soho, especially not _Bushwick_ \- but…” She trailed off. “The rent is almost nothing compared to what I am paying now, and it’s big enough to convert part of the living room into a small studio. Great lights, great floors...All I’d need is a few mirrors and a barre, and my home-office is set up.” She smiled. “This loft is incredible. And so is the view.” She was looking at Santana, who accepted the compliment with a shrug, as if to say “I know”.

Kurt let out a little squeak of delight.

“We’ve also found a solution for the extra room,” Santana said. “We considered finding someone through NYADA, but the chances of ending up with another diva…”

Kurt gave it his best Rachel-does-Celine-Dion-hands impression silently.

“Plus, I have a reputation to uphold,” Cassandra added. “We can’t have the word spread about my midnight cravings, or my students won’t take my threats about their BMI seriously anymore.”

Elliott shook his head a little. He never understood the tactics she went by, aiming to be feared rather than respected in the classroom, especially not since getting to know her a little.

“So we’ve decided to offer it to an organisation that helps homeless LGBTQ youth by placing them in temporary homes with queer volunteers.” Santana straightened her shoulders. “Auntie Snix will be giving back a little.”

The room was quiet for a moment.

“Santana, that’s wonderful,” Kurt said. He reached for Elliott’s hand and squeezed it softly.

Santana shrugged.

“No, it is,” Elliott agreed. “We’ll definitely help out, right?”

“Of course,” Kurt promised. “Just let us know what we can do.”

“Yeah, we’ll call if any of them need a make-over,” Santana sniped, but Elliott could tell there was no venom in it. He was amazed by their plan, and couldn’t help but attribute it to Kurt’s influence a little. His friends were better for having met him.

“Can I add something to the toast as well?” Dani asked. “It’s going to sound very insignificant and self-centered after all of this, but…I finished my song.”

Elliott gasped. “For our band?” He had known she was working on something for One Three Hill but she’d never told him what.

Dani nodded. “If you guys like it. It’s a little girly.”

“That never stopped me before,” Kurt said confidently.

Elliott chuckled. “Me neither.”

Dani grinned broadly. She held up her glass. “Okay. A few more of these and I might have the guts to play it for you.”

“Ooh! Cheers then!” Kurt said excitedly, bringing his glass to his lips.

“Actually, if this is announcement night-” Mercedes cut in.

Santana groaned and tried to sneak a sip of her drink anyway, but Cassandra cupped a hand over her glass.

Mercedes ignored Santana’s antics serenely, but then a shy smile crept onto her face.

“My announcement is...that Shane and I are back together.”

“Awww…” Kurt said, tilting his head to the side.

Elliott had no idea who that was. Dani and Isabelle were looking confused as well. Santana had filled her cheeks with air and mimed Shane’s circumference with her arms to Cassandra. Apparently he was a big guy.

Mercedes explained. “We were together for a while in high school, before Sam and I. He was always very supportive of me, and my future career. I loved him, but I got...distracted, I guess. I always knew our paths would cross again, and now they have. We have the same agent.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Wait, Sam was the underwear model, right?” Elliott heard Cassandra whisper to Santana. She nodded, and replied something that made Cassandra snort. Elliott wasn’t sure what she’d said, but he instantly liked Mercedes just a little more for seeing past a pretty face.

“Can we finally drink now?” Santana asked. She gave Isabelle a warning look. Isabelle assured her nothing would be coming from her by pretending to lock her lips. They all raised their glasses again.

At that exact moment, the loft door slid open.

“Sorry I am late!” Rachel announced dramatically. “Something very important happened today.”

“You invited _Rachel_?” Santana hissed at Kurt.

Kurt shrugged. “I didn’t think she’d come,” he replied quietly. “I felt bad leaving her out.”

“Who’s next? _Blaine_?” Santana let out, rolling her eyes.

Before Elliott could speak up and say, no, he definitely would have vetoed _that_ invite (not that there was any chance of Kurt considering inviting Blaine), Kurt shut Santana down with a few words.

“Blaine moved back to Ohio, remember?” he said. “The last I heard, he got fired from Dalton Academy after having been appointed as choir teacher only two weeks prior. Something about inappropriate conduct and faked credentials. I didn’t ask for details, because I didn’t care.”

Mercedes snorted softly, though she hid it politely behind her hand.

Rachel sighed deeply, affronted that no one was asking her to come in, and barged in anyway to tell everyone her news, whether they were interested or not.

“I left Fanny,” she announced. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I’ve been singing those songs for as long as I can speak, and I’ve had enough.”

“What?!” all of them let out, more or less in unison.

“That is insane,” Kurt added.

“No, it’s not!” Rachel protested. “The show was suffocating me!"

"Opening night was only a few weeks ago!" Elliott countered. Even though they had drifted apart since Rachel had moved out, Kurt and Elliott had gone to see her in her first week. It had taken a large bite out of their monthly budget, from which they were only now recovering.

"Weeks of agony," Rachel said dramatically. "My talent was-”

“Your ‘talent’ needs to shut the fuck up and clock up the flight hours,” Cassandra cut her off. “You can’t quit after a few weeks!"

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but something about Cassandra's look made her cower.

"You need to put in the work before you can diva out! Haven't I taught you anything?"

"I have been working all of my-"

"Oh, don't give me that crap," Cassandra cut her off. "You never had to work for anything in your life.

Cassandra continued, going into lecture mode as if she was standing in front of her students, cane in hand.

"At NYADA, you wanted everything to be about you. It wasn't enough for you to be one of twenty students hand-picked from thousands of applicants. You quit because we wouldn't cater to your needs, move tests to times that suited you - give you special little breaks in class to _hydrate_ ," Cassandra sneered, "And now, even getting the lead in a Broadway show isn't enough for you? Do you even know what's in the contract that you signed? The entire production depends on you. Hundreds of jobs depend on you. But hey, if you only care about yourself, I can also tell you this:

“Recruiters and potential investors for other productions need to see that you have the stamina and the training to pull off a full run. Why else would they cast you? They need to know if you can sing for more than 2 weeks without growing nodes, dance 8 shows a week without twisting kneecaps or straining your back."

Rachel made a face as if the very idea was ludicrous, but she didn't interrupt. Elliott raised his eyebrows. He had never witnessed Rachel Berry being silenced by anyone.

"If you quit this show, your Broadway career is _over_. No one’s gonna put their money on a fickle horse.”

Elliott knew Cassandra wasn’t wrong. She could have been kinder about it, but there wasn’t much kindness in the industry. She of all people would know.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rachel replied nonchalantly. “Broadway was my dream, but now I’ve woken up. New York was yesterday. I’m going to LA. They’re doing a tv show based on my life! Mine, Rachel Berry’s. It’s going to be called _That’s So Rachel_ and they already gave me some drafts based on my autobiographic blog. It’s _so_ funny! Casting starts next week -"

“Am I really hearing this?” Santana asked out loud. “Or did I just fall asleep during Kurt’s boring speech and this is a nightmare?” She pinched herself and winced.

“Rachel,” Elliott intervened before Kurt could start on Santana, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Who’s making this tv show? Are they even serious? I mean, a tv show based on your life… They usually don’t do that unless someone’s really famous. What...what are they going to show? Glee club?”

“Elliott is right,” Kurt agreed. “What if it’s a hoax?”

“Or just a bad idea,” Mercedes added.

Rachel glared at them. “You’re all just jealous. I came here hoping to celebrate my good news-”

“I _invited_ you to celebrate me and Elliott moving out, so if that’s not why you are here -” Kurt said flatly, leaving his threat open.

Elliott could tell by his tone Kurt was holding back a lot of anger.

"I can't believe you guys," Rachel said indignantly. She looked at Kurt. "I was actually going to offer you an audition slot to play my best friend."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested in that part anymore," Kurt replied coolly.

Elliott flinched. He knew how much Kurt still hurt about losing her; he was the one who insisted they go see her show, and invite her, as if he was somehow unable to let go. But even he had his limits. Elliott watched Rachel's face as she realized it too.

Rachel's eyes wandered from Kurt to the others, clearly looking for some support, but finding none. "Fine," she snapped. "Be that way. But don't come crawling back when I made it in Hollywood." With that, she turned and stalked towards the door.

Kurt remained quiet. Santana gave Rachel a sarcastic little wave.

"Was she always like that?" Dani whispered.

"Uh-uh," Mercedes confirmed. "But she used to have her redeeming moments."

Kurt shook his head. “Not since New York,” he mumbled. “And it only got worse after we lost Finn.”

Everyone was quiet at the table.

Elliott looked for something to distract Kurt from his gloomy thoughts. “How about some music?” he suggested. “Dani?”  
  
Dani nodded straight away, and rose from her seat. The grateful look Kurt shot them both told Elliott he had made the right call. He quickly grabbed a guitar in case Dani needed back-up, and mentally went over a few songs he could play after Dani had played them her new song, so they could keep the music going.

*

“You really saved our party back there,” Kurt mumbled against Elliott’s chest after crawling under the covers that night.

“Nah. I just helped a little,” Elliott said, brushing it off. “Dani’s song is amazing.” He kissed Kurt’s temple. “And so are you. I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” Kurt replied, then sighed heavily. “I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Elliott wrapped his arm around Kurt. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“You know me. I’m having _twenty-fifth_ thoughts, at least.” Kurt paused. “But I’ll be okay. It’s just always a little scary to start something new. It’s like unrolling a bolt of fabric and seeing it spread out it front of you. You know you can turn it into a fantastic faux-designer piece, but making that first cut…”

Elliott grinned. “I bet real designers feel the same way when they start a new collection,” he said.

“Hmm. Isabelle says she does, yes,” Kurt agreed, “though most of them don’t actually cut and sew their own creations. They have a _team_.”

“You have a team, too,” Elliott reminded him. “You’ve got me, and Dani, Mercedes, Santana…”

“You had me at having you,” Kurt whispered in a low voice that made Elliott shiver.

“So…” Elliott trailed off. “Sleep?” He hoped it was clear from his voice that he’d rather not go to sleep right away.

“I don’t think so,” Kurt replied. “How about we take a look at our list?”

Definite tingles went down Elliott’s spine.

Unlike Kurt’s old bucket list, that consisted mostly of the ambitious dreams of a smalltown high school kid, this list was one they had compiled together. They jokingly called it the “sexy bucket list”, and it had their private fantasies on it. Both of them had added things to the list, and afterwards, had gone through the other’s items with the right to veto them off. Most of their fantasies had made the list (Kurt had vetoed ‘getting intimate piercings’ and Elliott had crossed off ‘Twilight cosplay’). Every now and then, they’d take it out and picked something. It always made for a very interesting adventure.

“Okay,” Kurt mumbled, scrolling through his phone, “we can forget everything that’s marked ‘outside’, because I’m not leaving the loft anymore tonight. And we don’t have any strawberries in the fridge , so...” He scrolled on.

Elliott craned his neck to see the little screen in Kurt’s palm. “How about number forty?” he suggested.

Kurt stopped scrolling. “Hmmm. ‘Light roleplay’? Is that one of yours or one of mine?”

“I think we both wrote something similar down,” Elliott replied.

Kurt chewed his lip. Then his eyes lit up. “Oooh! I have an idea! I’ll need my Spotlight uniform, and you need your glasses!”

“Huh?”

Kurt grinned. “Do you remember after your audition, when you came to the diner? You said you came to New York to be in my band…”

Elliott narrowed his eyes and bit the corners of his lips to stop himself from grinning too eagerly. “Yes, and I meant that,” he replied. “I still do.”

“Then let’s revisit that memory and pretend I needed a bit more... _persuasion_ to let you join my band.” Kurt waggled his eyebrows.

“Alright,” Elliott replied, his voice low. That little scenario interested him very much. “Safe-words as always?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, a brief hard look crossing his features. His personal safe-word was _Blaine_ ; a definite buzzkill for them both and certain never to be uttered by Kurt during sex unless he really wanted to stop. Elliott’s was much more random (“frogs!”) but no less important. Agreeing to them had become part of their ritual when picking something off the list.

Kurt kissed Elliott’s cheek and went to put on his uniform shirt over his briefs. Elliott quickly scrambled for his glasses and jammed them onto his face. He sat up in their bed and smiled as Kurt returned.

“Hello, my name is Kurt and I’ll be your chorus boy waiter for today. Would you like to hear our specials?” Kurt asked playfully, resting one foot on the bed, displaying a naked leg. He had conveniently left his uniform pants off.

Elliott pretend to look at a menu in his lap and then looked up. “First, can I ask you something? Is this toned down enough?” He took off his glasses.

“Starchild?” Kurt asked in mock-amazement.

“It’s Elliott Gilbert, actually. Do you have a minute to talk?”

*

**KURT**  
  
For the first time in his life, Kurt had more than he had ever dreamed of.

* * *

 

-The End-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here it is, the final chapter of Suddenly I See. It took me weeks to write, because I was looking for something epic as a grande finale - but as Deliriumbubbles and Chocoholicannanymous reminded me, not everything needs to be epic, and sometimes a chapter about a solid, loving relationship is better than adding something flashy. Kurt and Elliott are in a good place, which is where we wanted them.
> 
> It took me 10 months to write this fic. It was only ever going to be 15-20 K, and ended up 50K. I wrote for it exclusively, with no WIPs on the side, in every spare moment I had (which isn’t much, considering I have 2 children under 3 who haven’t yet mastered sleeping through the night). At first, my dedication came from the commission, but when that fell through, it was YOU who helped me finish the story, motivating me with feedback and encouragement. I’m very proud of this work and I have you to thank for it :)
> 
> PS : To those of you who haven’t watched season 5/6: yes, Rachel *really* quits Broadway after a few weeks to try her luck in LA with a tv show based on her life called ‘That’s So Rachel’. You can’t make this shit up.


End file.
